MARY ROSE. Well, not knowing what had happened before, she might come back and—and be caught again. (She draws closer to him.) Little island, I don’t think I like you to-day.
SIMON. If she ever comes back, let us hope it is with an able-bodied husband to protect her.
MARY ROSE (comfortably). Nice people, husbands. You won’t let them catch me, will you, Simon?
SIMON. Let ’em try. (Gaily.) And now to pack up the remnants of the feast and escape from the scene of the crime. We will never come back again, Mary Rose, I’m too frightened!
(She helps him to pack.)
MARY ROSE. It is a shame to be funny about my island. You poor, lonely isle. I never knew about your liking to be visited, and I dare say I shall never visit you any more. The last time of anything is always sad, don’t you think, Simon?
SIMON (briskly). There must always be a last time, dearest dear.
MARY ROSE. Yes—I suppose—for everything. There must be a last time I shall see you, Simon. (Playing with his hair.) Some day I shall flatten this tuft for the thousandth time, and then never do it again.
SIMON. Some day I shall look for it and it won’t be there. That day I shall say ‘Good riddance.’
MARY ROSE. I shall cry. (She is whimsical rather than merry and merry rather than sad.)