MRS. MORLAND. Nor listening, as it were, for some sound that never came? SIMON. A sound? Do you mean a sound from the island? MRS. MORLAND. Yes, we think so. But at any rate she has long outgrown those fancies. (_She fetches a sketch-book from a drawer._) Here are the sketches she made. You can take the book away with you and look at them at your leisure. SIMON. It is a little curious that she has never spoken to me of that holiday. She tells me everything. MRS. MORLAND. No, that isn’t curious, it is just that the island has faded from her memory. I should be troubled if she began to recall it. Well, Simon, we felt we had to tell you. That is all we know, I am sure it is all we shall ever know. What are you going to do? SIMON. What do you think! (_He mounts the chair again, and knocks triumphantly. A happy tapping replies._) You heard? That means it’s all right. You’ll see how she’ll come tearing down to us! MRS. MORLAND (_kissing him_). You dear boy, you will see how I shall go tearing up to her. (_She goes off._) SIMON. I do love Mary Rose, sir. MR. MORLAND. So do we, Simon. I suppose that made us love her a little more than other daughters are loved. Well, it is dead and done with, and it doesn’t disturb me now at all. I hope you won’t let it disturb you. SIMON (_undisturbed_). Rather not. (_Disturbed._) I say, I wonder whether I _have_ noticed her listening for a sound? MR. MORLAND. Not you. We did wisely, didn’t we, in not questioning her? SIMON. Oh, lord, yes. ‘The Island that Likes to be Visited.’ It is a queer name. (_Boyishly._) I say, let’s forget all about it. (_He looks at the ceiling._) I almost wish her mother hadn’t gone up to her. It will make Mary Rose longer in coming down. MR. MORLAND (_humorous_). Fanny will think of nicer things to say to her than you could think of, Simon. SIMON. Yes, I know. Ah, now you are chaffing me. (_Apologetically._) You see, sir, my leave is up to-morrow. (_MARY ROSE comes rushing in._) Mary Rose! (_She darts past him into her father’s arms._) MARY ROSE. It isn’t you I am thinking of; it is father, it is poor father. Oh, Simon, how could you? Isn’t it hateful of him, Daddy! MR. MORLAND. I should just say it is. Is your mother crying too? MARY ROSE (_squeaking_). Yes. MR. MORLAND. I see I am going to have an abominable day. If you two don’t mind very much being left alone, I think I’ll go up and sit in the apple-room and cry with your mother. It is close and dark and musty up there, and when we feel we can’t stick it any longer I’ll knock on the floor, Simon, as a sign that we are coming down. (_He departs on this light note. We see how the minds of these two children match._) SIMON. Mary Rose! MARY ROSE. Oh, Simon--you and me. SIMON. You and me, that’s it. We are _us_, now. Do you like it? MARY ROSE. It is so fearfully solemn. SIMON. You are not frightened, are you? (_She nods._) Not at me? (_She shakes her head._) What at?