MRS. MORLAND. We have nothing to tell you against her.
MR. MORLAND. It is just something that happened, Simon. She couldn’t help it. It hasn’t troubled us in the least for years, but we always agreed that she mustn’t be engaged before we told the man. We must have your promise, before we tell you, that you will keep it to yourself.
SIMON (frowning). I promise.
MRS. MORLAND. You must never speak of it even to her.
SIMON. Not to Mary Rose? I wish you would say quickly what it is.
(They are now sitting round the little table.)
MR. MORLAND. It can’t be told quite in a word. It happened seven years ago, when Mary Rose was eleven. We were in a remote part of Scotland—in the Outer Hebrides.
SIMON. I once went on shore there from the Gadfly, very bleak and barren, rocks and rough grass, I never saw a tree.
MR. MORLAND. It is mostly like that. There is a whaling-station. We went because I was fond of fishing. I haven’t had the heart to fish since. Quite close to the inn where we put up there is—a little island.
(He sees that little island so clearly that he forgets to go on.)