SIMON. It was obviously made to fit you, or you to fit it; one of you was measured for the other. At any rate, we have now been all round it, and all through it, as my bleeding limbs testify. (_The whins have been tearing at him, and he rubs his legs._) MARY ROSE. They didn’t hurt me at all. SIMON. Perhaps they like you better than me. Well, we have made a good search for the place where you used to sit and sketch, and you must now take your choice. MARY ROSE. It was here. I told you of the fir and the rowan-tree. SIMON. There were a fir and a rowan at each of the other places. MARY ROSE. Not this fir, not this rowan. SIMON. You have me there. MARY ROSE. Simon, I know I’m not clever, but I’m always right. The rowan-berries! I used to put them in my hair. (_She puts them in her hair again._) Darling rowan-tree, are you glad to see me back? You don’t look a bit older, how do you think I am wearing? I shall tell you a secret. You too, firry. Come closer, both of you. Put your arms around me, and listen: I am married! (_The branch of which she has been making a scarf disengages itself._) It didn’t like that, Simon, it is jealous. After all, it knew me first. Dearest trees, if I had known that you felt for me in that way--but it is too late now. I have been married for nearly four years, and this is the man. His name is Lieutenant Simon Sobersides. (_She darts about making discoveries._) SIMON (_tranquilly smoking_). What is it now? MARY ROSE. That moss! I feel sure there is a tree-trunk beneath it, the very root on which I used to sit and sketch. (_He clears away some of the moss._) SIMON. It is a tree-trunk right enough. MARY ROSE. I believe--I believe I cut my name on it with a knife. SIMON. This looks like it. ‘M--A--R--’ and there it stops. That is always where the blade of the knife breaks. MARY ROSE. My ownest seat, how I have missed you. SIMON. Don’t you believe it, old tree-trunk. She had forgotten all about you, and you just came vaguely back to her mind because we happened to be in the neighbourhood. MARY ROSE. Yes, I suppose that is true. You were the one who wanted to come, Simon. I wonder why? SIMON (_with his answer ready_). No particular reason. I wanted to see a place you had visited as a child; that was all. But what a trumpery island it proves to be. MARY ROSE (_who perhaps agrees with him_). How can you? Even if it is true, you needn’t say it before them all, hurting their feelings. Dear seat, here is one for each year I have been away. (_She kisses the trunk a number of times._) SIMON (_counting_). Eleven. Go on, give it all the news. Tell it we don’t have a house of our own yet.