The Red House Mystery and Other Novels. A. A. Milne
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Betty. We must have some spectators next time.
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. Cushions. (She arranges them at her back with BETTY'S help. With a sigh of comfort) There! Now then, Betty, about callers.
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. If Mr. Baxter calls--he is the rather prim gentleman--
BETTY. Yes, ma'am; the one who's been here several times before.
BELINDA (giving BETTY a quick look). Yes. Well, if he calls, you'll say, "Not at home."
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. He will say, "Oh--er--oh--er--really." Then you'll smile very sweetly and say, "I beg your pardon, was it Mr. _Baxter_?" And he'll say, "Yes!" and you'll say, "Oh, I beg your pardon, sir; _this_ way, please."
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. That's right, Betty. Well now, if Mr. Devenish calls--he is the rather poetical gentleman--
BETTY. Yes, ma'am; the one who's always coming here.
BELINDA (with a pleased smile). Yes. Well, if he calls you'll say, "Not at home."
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. He'll immediately throw down his bunch of flowers and dive despairingly into the moat. You'll stop him, just as he is going in, and say, "I beg your pardon, sir, was it Mr. _Devenish_?" And he will say, "Yes!" and you will say, "Oh, I beg your pardon, sir; _this_ way, please."
BETTY. Yes, ma'am. And suppose they both call together?
BELINDA. We won't suppose anything so exciting, Betty.
BETTY. No, ma'am. And suppose any other gentleman calls?
BELINDA (with a sigh). There aren't any other gentlemen.
BETTY. It might be a clergyman, come to ask for a subscription like.
BELINDA. If it's a clergyman, Betty, I shall--I shall want your assistance out of the hammock first.
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. That's all. To anybody else I'm not at home. (Trying to secure book on table and nearly falling out of the hammock.) Oh, just give me that little green book. (Pointing to books on the table.) The one at the bottom there--that's the one. (BETTY gives it to her.) Thank you. (Reading the title.) "The Lute of Love," by Claude Devenish. (To herself as she turns the pages.) It doesn't seem much for half-a-crown when you think of the _Daily Telegraph_. ... Lute ... Lute. ... I should have quite a pretty mouth if I kept on saying that. (With a great deal of expression.) Lute! (She pats her mouth back.)
BETTY. Is that all, ma'am?
BELINDA. That's all. (BETTY prepares to go.) Oh, what am I thinking of! (Waving to the table.) I want that review; I think it's the blue one. (As BETTY begins to look.) It has an article by Mr. Baxter on the "Rise of Lunacy in the Eastern Counties"--yes, that's the one. I'd better have that too; I'm just at the most exciting place. You shall have it after _me, _Betty.
BETTY. Is that all, ma'am?
BELINDA. Yes, that really is all.
[BETTY goes into the house.]
BELINDA (reading to herself). "It is a matter of grave concern to all serious students of social problems--" (Putting the review down in hammock and shaking her head gently.) But not in April. (Lazily opening the book and reading.) "Tell me where is love"--well, that's the question, isn't it? (She puts the book down, gives a sigh of happiness, and lazily closes her eyes. DELIA comes into the garden, from Paris. She is decidedly a modern girl, pretty and self-possessed. Her hair is half-way up; waiting for her birthday, perhaps. She sees her mother suddenly, stops, and then goes on tiptoe to the head of the hammock. She smiles and kisses her mother on the forehead. BELINDA, looking supremely unconscious, goes on sleeping. DELIA kisses her lightly again. BELINDA wakes up with an extraordinarily natural start, and is just about to say, "Oh, Mr. Devenish--you mustn't!"--when she sees DELIA.) Delia!
DELIA. Well, mummy, aren't you glad to see me?
BELINDA. My darling child! (They kiss each other frantically.)
DELIA. Say you're glad.
BELINDA (sitting up). My darling, I'm absolutely--Hold the hammock while I get out, dear; we don't want an accident. (Getting out with DELIA'S help) They're all right when you're there, and they'll bear two tons, but they're horrid getting in and out of. (Kissing her again) Darling, it really _is_ you?
DELIA. Oh, it is jolly seeing you again. I believe you were asleep.
BELINDA (with dignity). Certainly not, child. I was reading "The Nineteenth Century"--(with an air)--and after. (Earnestly) Darling, wasn't it next Thursday you were coming back?
DELIA. No, this Thursday, silly.
BELINDA (penitently). Oh, my darling, and I was going over to Paris to bring you home.
DELIA. I half expected you.
BELINDA. So confusing their both being called Thursday. And you were leaving school for the very last time. If you don't forgive me, Delia, I shall cry.
DELIA (stroking her hand fondly). Silly mother!
(BELINDA sits down in a basket chair and DELIA sits on a table next to her.)
BELINDA. Isn't it a lovely day for April, darling! I've wanted to say that to somebody all day, and you're the first person who's given me the chance. Oh, I said it to Betty, but she only said, "Yes, ma'am."
DELIA. Poor mother!
BELINDA (jumping up suddenly and kissing DELIA again). I simply must have another one. And to think that you're never going back to school any more. (Looking at her fondly) Darling, you _are_ looking pretty.
DELIA. Am I?
BELINDA. Lovely. (Going back to her seat) And now you're going to stay with me for just as long as you want a mother. (Anxiously) Darling, you didn't mind being sent away to school, did you? It _is_ the usual thing, you know.
DELIA. Silly mother! of course it is.
BELINDA (relieved). I'm so glad you think so too.
DELIA. Have you been very lonely without me?
BELINDA. Very.
DELIA (holding up a finger). The truth, mummy!
BELINDA. I've missed you horribly, Delia. (Primly.) The absence of female companionship of the requisite--
DELIA. Are you really all alone?
BELINDA (smiling mysteriously). Well, not always, of course.
DELIA (excitedly, at she slips off the table). Mummy, I believe you're being bad again.
BELINDA. Really, darling, you forget that I'm old enough to be--in fact, am--your mother.
DELIA (nodding her head). You are being bad.
BELINDA (rising with dignity and drawing herself up to her full height). My child, that is not the way to--Oh, I say, what a lot taller I am than you!
DELIA. And prettier.