Emily Jane (illusion suddenly stripped from her eyes—for that is what happens under the spell of this magic island): Oh, Daddy, I thought there was nothing you couldn’t do. And now, now—you’re just like anybody else.
Mrs. Balbus (critically): You certainly look strange, John; not at all your usual self.
Mr. Balbus (for the first time seeing his wife and daughter as they really are): Please be quiet both of you and don’t talk about things you don’t understand. McVittie, what are we to do?
McVittie (philosophically): Wait for the island to disappear, I suppose. (The strain of music sounds once more.)
Price (excitedly): There it is moving about again. The thing I saw before.
Emily Jane: It’s like a tiny, tiny man.
Mr. Balbus: I don’t fancy this at all.
Price: It’s coming nearer. (An elvish figure appears dancing towards them. It is puffing a stupendous pipe.)
Mr. Balbus (trying to be severe and failing signally): Who are you, please?
The Figure (dancing more than ever): Macconachie.