SIMON. I don’t mean your getting me out of the house, sending me to Plymouth. The dastardliness was in not letting them tell me, when I got back, that—that he had arrived.
MARY ROSE. It was very naughty of me. You remember, Simon, when you came in to my room you tried to comfort me by saying it wouldn’t be long now—and I let you maunder on, you darling.
SIMON. Gazing at me with solemn, innocent eyes. You unutterable brat, Mary Rose!
MARY ROSE. You should have been able to read in my face how clever I had been. Oh, Simon, when I said at last, ‘Dearest, what is that funny thing in the bassinette?’ and you went and looked, never shall I forget your face.
SIMON. I thought at first it was some baby you had borrowed.
MARY ROSE. I sometimes think so still. I didn’t, did I?
SIMON. You are a droll one. Always just when I think I know you at last I have to begin at the beginning again.
MARY ROSE (suddenly). Simon, if one of us had to—to go—and we could choose which one——
SIMON (sighing). She’s off again.
MARY ROSE. Well, but if—I wonder which would be best. I mean for Harry, of course.