MRS. MORLAND. He must be told.
MR. MORLAND (weakly). Fanny, let us keep it to ourselves.
MRS. MORLAND. It would not be fair to him.
MR. MORLAND. No, it wouldn’t. (Testily.) He will be an ass if it bothers him.
MRS. MORLAND (timidly). Yes.
(SIMON comes in, a manly youth of twenty-three in naval uniform. Whether he has changed much since breakfast-time we have no means of determining, but he is sufficiently attractive to make one hope that there will be no further change in the immediate future. He seems younger even than his years because he is trying to look as if a decade or so had passed since the incident of the boat-house and he were now a married man of approved standing. He has come with honeyed words upon his lips, but suddenly finds that he is in the dock. His judges survey him silently, and he can only reply with an idiotic but perhaps ingratiating laugh.)
SIMON. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! (He ceases uncomfortably, like one who has made his statement.)
MR. MORLAND. You will need to say more than that, you know, Simon, to justify your conduct.
MRS. MORLAND. Oh, Simon, how could you!
SIMON (with a sinking). It seems almost like stealing.