(SIMON touches her hair with his lips.)
Some day, Simon, you will kiss me for the last time.
SIMON. That wasn’t the last time at any rate. (To prove it he kisses her again, sportively, little thinking that this may be the last time. She quivers.) What is it?
MARY ROSE. I don’t know; something seemed to pass over me.
SIMON. You and your last times. Let me tell you, Mistress Blake, there will be a last time of seeing your baby. (Hurriedly.) I mean only that he can’t always be infantile; but the day after you have seen him for the last time as a baby you will see him for the first time as a little gentleman. Think of that.
MARY ROSE (clapping her hands). The loveliest time of all will be when he is a man and takes me on his knee instead of my putting him on mine. Oh, gorgeous! (With one of her sudden changes.) Don’t you think the sad thing is that we seldom know when the last time has come? We could make so much more of it.
SIMON. Don’t you believe that. To know would spoil it all.
(The packing is nearly completed.)
I suppose I ought to stamp out the fire?
MARY ROSE. Let Cameron do that. I want you to come and sit beside me, Simon, and make love to me.