BELINDA (surprised and pained). My darling, what _do_ you mean?

DELIA. Don't you remember the Count who kept proposing to you at
Scarborough? I do.

BELINDA (reproachfully). Dear one, you were the merest child,
paddling about on the beach and digging castles.

DELIA (smiling to herself). I was old enough to notice the Count.

BELINDA (sadly). And I'd bought her a perfectly new spade! How
one deceives oneself!

DELIA. And then there was the M.P. who proposed at Windermere.

BELINDA. Yes, dear, but it wasn't seconded--I mean he never got
very far with it.

DELIA. And the artist in Wales.

BELINDA. Darling child, what a memory you have. No wonder your
teachers are pleased with you.

DELIA (settling herself comfortably). Now tell me all about this
one.

BELINDA (meekly). Which one?

DELIA (excitedly). Oh, are there lots?