MARY ROSE. Why not from there?
SIMON. Oh, no reason. But if they have a distaste for the place, perhaps they wouldn’t like our coming. I say, praise me, I have got this fire alight.
MARY ROSE (who is occasionally pertinacious). Simon, why did you want to come to my island without me?
SIMON. Did I? Oh, I merely suggested your remaining at the inn because I thought you seemed tired. I wonder where Cameron can have got to.
MARY ROSE. Here he comes. (Solicitously.) Do be polite to him, dear; you know how touchy they are.
SIMON. I am learning!
(The boat, with CAMERON, draws in. He is a gawky youth of twenty, in the poor but honourable garb of the ghillie, and is not specially impressive until you question him about the universe.)
CAMERON (in the soft voice of the Highlander). Iss it the wish of Mr. Blake that I should land?
SIMON. Yes, yes, Cameron, with the luncheon.
(CAMERON steps ashore with the fishing basket.)