shan't spoil your lovely times.

BELINDA (_surprised_). Spoil them? Why, you'll make them more
lovely than ever.

DELIA (_turning away and sitting on table_). Well, but do they know
you have a grown-up daughter?

BELINDA (_suddenly realizing and sitting up_). Oh!

DELIA. It doesn't really matter, because you don't look a day more than
thirty.

BELINDA (_absently_). No. (_Hurriedly_.) I mean, how sweet of
you--only----

DELIA. What!

BELINDA (_playing with her rings_). Well, one of them, Mr. Baxter--
Harold--(_she looks quickly up at_ DELIA _and down again in
pretty affectation, but she is really laughing at herself all the
time_) he writes statistical articles for the Reviews--percentages
and all those things. He's just the sort of man, if he knew that I was
your mother, to work it out that I was more than thirty. The other one,
Mr. Devenish--Claude--(_she looks up and down as before_) he's
rather, rather poetical. He thinks I came straight from heaven--last
week.

DELIA (_laughing and jumping up and crossing below deck-chair to_
R. _towards house_). I think _I'd_ better go straight back to