MARY ROSE (_in little mouthfuls_). He is at the foot of the tree. He is not coming up by the tree. He wants to come in by the door. That shows how important it is. MR. MORLAND. What is? MARY ROSE. You see, his leave is up to-morrow, and he--wants to see you, Daddy, before he goes. MR. MORLAND. I am sure he does. And I know why. I told you, Fanny. Mary Rose, do you see my purse lying about? MARY ROSE. Your purse, Dad? MR. MORLAND. Yes, you gosling. There is a fiver in it, and _that_ is what Master Simon wants to see me about. (_MARY ROSE again seeks her mother’s breast._) MRS. MORLAND. Oh, James! Dearest, tell me what Simon has been saying to you; whisper it, my love. (_MARY ROSE whispers._) Yes, I thought it was that. MARY ROSE. I am frightened to tell Daddy. MRS. MORLAND. James, you may as well be told bluntly; it isn’t your fiver that Simon wants, it is your daughter. (_MR. MORLAND is aghast, and MARY ROSE rushes into his arms to help him in this terrible hour._) MARY ROSE (_as the injured party_). You will scold him, won’t you, Dad? MR. MORLAND (_vainly trying to push her from him_). By--by--by the--by all that is horrible I’ll do more than scold him. The puppy, I’ll--I’ll---- MARY ROSE (_entreating_). Not more than scold him, Daddy--not more. Mary Rose couldn’t bear it if it was more. MR. MORLAND (_blankly_). You are not in love with Simon, are you? MARY ROSE. Oh-h-h-h! (_She makes little runnings from the one parent to the other, carrying kisses for the wounds._) Daddy, I am so awfully sorry that this has occurred. Mummy, what can we do? (_She cries._) MRS. MORLAND (_soothing her_). My own, my pet. But he is only a boy, Mary Rose, just a very nice boy. MARY ROSE (_awed_). Mother, that is the wonderful, wonderful thing. He was just a boy--I quite understand that--he was a mere boy till to-day; and then, Daddy, he suddenly changed; all at once he became a man. It was while he was--telling me. You will scarcely know him now, Mother. MRS. MORLAND. Darling, he breakfasted with us; I think I shall know him still. MARY ROSE. He is quite different from breakfast-time. He doesn’t laugh any more, he would never think of capsizing the punt intentionally now, he has grown so grave, so manly, so--so _protective_, he thinks of everything now, of freeholds and leaseholds, and gravel soil, and hot and cold, and the hire system. (_She cries again, but her eyes are sparkling through the rain._) MR. MORLAND (_with spirit_). He has got as far as that, has he! Does he propose that this marriage should take place to-morrow? MARY ROSE (_eager to soften the blow_). Oh no, not for quite a long time. At earliest, not till his next leave. MRS. MORLAND. Mary Rose! MARY ROSE. He is waiting down there, Mummy. May I bring him in? MRS. MORLAND. Of course, dearest. MR. MORLAND. Don’t come with him, though. MARY ROSE. Oh! (_She wonders what this means._) You know how shy Simon is. MR. MORLAND. I do not.