McVittie (hoarsely): Want us all? What for, may I ask?
Macconachie: To draw tears from simple hearts. You’ll see.
But they don’t understand at all, and look blankly at one another, as he flits about like a will o’ the wisp still puffing at his gigantic pipe.
III
The drawing-room again. They are all, except Emily Jane, sitting there in disconsolate melancholy.
Mr. Balbus (with a deep sigh): It’s for the best of course.... But I miss her sadly.
McVittie & Price: It’s terrible, terrible. (They sigh).
Mrs. Balbus: I always felt there was something unearthly about the child. (She sighs very deeply.)
There is a long pause. They are thinking of their terrible experience when Macconachie flitted over their heads like a sprite, and the solid island sank beneath their feet, and they were left clinging to a raft.
“When the island began to submerge”—begins Mr. Balbus, and then he checks himself with a sob.