MRS. MORLAND. That isn’t true, dear. Mary Rose belongs to the past, and we have to live in the present, for a very little longer. Just a little longer, and then we shall understand all. Even if we could drag her back to tell us now what these things mean I think it would be a shame.
MR. MORLAND. Yes, I suppose so. Do you think Simon is a philosopher about it also?
MRS. MORLAND. Don’t be bitter, James, to your old wife. Simon was very fond of her. He was a true lover.
MR. MORLAND. Was, was! Is it all ‘was’ about Mary Rose?
MRS. MORLAND. It just has to be. He had all the clever ones of the day advising, suggesting, probing. He went back to the island every year for a long time.
MR. MORLAND. Yes, and then he missed a year, and that somehow ended it.
MRS. MORLAND. He never married again. Most men would.
MR. MORLAND. His work took her place. What a jolly, hearty fellow he is.
MRS. MORLAND. If you mean he isn’t heart-broken, he isn’t. Mercifully the wound has healed.
MR. MORLAND. I am not criticising, Fanny. I suppose any one who came back after twenty-five years—however much they had been loved—it might—we—should we know what to say to them, Fanny?