HARRY. In this cold house, when you should be searching, do you sometimes play by yourself instead?
MARY ROSE (whispering). Don’t tell.
HARRY. Not me. You’re a pretty thing. What beautiful shoes you have.
(She holds out her feet complacently.)
MARY ROSE. Nice buckles.
HARRY. I like your hair.
MARY ROSE. Pretty hair.
HARRY. Do you mind the tuft that used to stand up at the back of—of Simon’s head?
MARY ROSE (merrily). Naughty tuft.
HARRY. I have one like that.