MARY ROSE. We once went to it when I was little. Isn’t it funny, I had almost forgotten about that island, and then suddenly I saw it quite clearly as I was sitting up there. (Senselessly.) Of course it was the little old woman who pointed it out to me.
(SIMON is disturbed.)
SIMON (gently). Mary Rose, there are only yourselves and the three maids in the house, aren’t there?
MARY ROSE (surprised). You know there are. Whatever makes you ask?
SIMON (cautiously). I thought—I thought I had a glimpse of a little old woman on the stair to-day.
MARY ROSE (interested). Who on earth could that be?
SIMON. It doesn’t matter, I had made a mistake. Tell me, what was there particular about that place in the Hebrides?
MARY ROSE. Oh, the fishing for father. But there was an island where I often— My little island!
SIMON (perhaps quite unnecessarily). What are you listening for, Mary Rose?
MARY ROSE. Was I? I don’t hear anything. Oh, my dear, my dear, I should love to show you the tree-trunk and the rowan-tree where I used to sketch while father was in the boat. I expect he used to land me on the island because it was such a safe place.