(_He goes back to the boat, which soon drifts out of sight._) MARY ROSE (_pleasantly thrilled_). Suppose it were true, Simon! SIMON (_stoutly_). But it isn’t. MARY ROSE. No, of course not; but if it had been, how awful for the girl when her father told her that she had been away for weeks. SIMON. Perhaps she was never told. He may have thought it wiser not to disturb her. MARY ROSE. Poor girl! Yes, I suppose that would have been best. And yet--it was taking a risk. SIMON. How? MARY ROSE. Well, not knowing what had happened before, she might come back and--and be caught again. (_She draws closer to him._) Little island, I don’t think I like you to-day. SIMON. If she ever comes back, let us hope it is with an able-bodied husband to protect her. MARY ROSE (_comfortably_). Nice people, husbands. You won’t let them catch me, will you, Simon? SIMON. Let ’em try. (_Gaily._) And now to pack up the remnants of the feast and escape from the scene of the crime. We will never come back again, Mary Rose, I’m too frightened! (_She helps him to pack._) MARY ROSE. It is a shame to be funny about my island. You poor, lonely isle. I never knew about your liking to be visited, and I dare say I shall never visit you any more. The last time of anything is always sad, don’t you think, Simon? SIMON (_briskly_). There must always be a last time, dearest dear. MARY ROSE. Yes--I suppose--for everything. There must be a last time I shall see you, Simon. (_Playing with his hair._) Some day I shall flatten this tuft for the thousandth time, and then never do it again. SIMON. Some day I shall look for it and it won’t be there. That day I shall say ‘Good riddance.’ MARY ROSE. I shall cry. (_She is whimsical rather than merry and merry rather than sad._) (_SIMON touches her hair with his lips._) Some day, Simon, you will kiss me for the last time. SIMON. That wasn’t the last time at any rate. (_To prove it he kisses her again, sportively, little thinking that this may be the last time. She quivers._) What is it? MARY ROSE. I don’t know; something seemed to pass over me. SIMON. You and your last times. Let me tell you, Mistress Blake, there will be a last time of seeing your baby. (_Hurriedly._) I mean only that he can’t always be infantile; but the day after you have seen him for the last time as a baby you will see him for the first time as a little gentleman. Think of that. MARY ROSE (_clapping her hands_). The loveliest time of all will be when he is a man and takes me on his knee instead of my putting him on mine. Oh, gorgeous! (_With one of her sudden changes._) Don’t you think the sad thing is that we seldom know when the last time has come? We could make so much more of it. SIMON. Don’t you believe that. To know would spoil it all. (_The packing is nearly completed._) I suppose I ought to stamp out the fire? MARY ROSE. Let Cameron do that. I want you to come and sit beside me, Simon, and make love to me.