SCENE IV.--The Court of FATHER CHRISTMAS. Shall we describe it? No.

But there is everything there which any reasonable person could want,

from ices to catapults. And the decorations, done in candy so that you

can break off a piece whenever you are hungry, are superb.

1ST USHER (from the back). Father Christmas!

SEVERAL USHERS (from the front). Father Christmas! (He comes in.)

FATHER CHRISTMAS (genially). Good evening, everybody.

(I ought to have said that there are already some hundreds of people

there, though how some of them got invitations--but, after all, that

is not our business. Wishing to put them quite at their ease, FATHER

CHRISTMAS, who has a very creditable baritone, gives them a song.

After the applause which follows it, he retires to the throne at the

back, and awaits his more important guests. The USHERS take up their

places, one at the entrance, one close to the throne.)

1ST USHER. Mr. and Mrs. Henry Hubbard! (They come in.)

MR. HUBBARD (pressing twopence into his palm). Thank you, my man,

thank you.

2ND USHER. Mr. and Mrs. Henry Hubbard.

MR. HUBBARD (handing out another twopence). Not at all, my man, not at

all.

(MRS. HUBBARD curtsies and MR. HUBBARD bows to FATHER CHRISTMAS.)

FATHER CHRISTMAS. I am delighted to welcome you to my Court. How are

you both?

MR. HUBBARD. Very well, thank you, sir. My wife has a slight cold in

one foot, owing to--

MRS. HUBBARD (hastily). A touch of gout, sir, inherited from my

ancestors, the Montmorency-Smythes.

FATHER CHRISTMAS. Dear me, it won't prevent you dancing, I hope?

MRS. HUBBARD. Oh no, sir.

FATHER CHRISTMAS. That's right. We shall have a few more friends

coming in soon. You have been giving each other presents already, I

see. I congratulate you, madam, on your husband's taste.

MRS. HUBBARD (touching her necklace). Oh no, this is a very old

heirloom of the Montmorency-Smythe family.

MR. HUBBARD. An ancestress of Mrs. Hubbard's--a lady-in-waiting at the

Tottenham Court--at the Tudor Court--was fortunate enough to catch the

eye of--er--

MRS. HUBBARD. Elizabeth.

MR. HUBBARD. Queen Elizabeth, and--er--

FATHER CHRISTMAS. I see. You are lucky, madam, to have such beautiful

jewels. (Turning to MR. HUBBARD) And this delightful gold Albert

watch-chain--

MR. HUBBARD. Presented to an ancestor of mine, Sir Humphrey de

Hubbard, at the battle of--er--

MRS. HUBBARD. Agincourt.

MR. HUBBARD. As you say, dear, Agincourt. By King Richard the--I

should say William the--well, by the King.

FATHER CHRISTMAS. How very interesting.

MR. HUBBARD. Yes. My ancestor clove a scurvy knave from the chaps to

the chine. I don't quite know how you do that, but I gather that he

inflicted some sort of a scratch upon his adversary, and the King

rewarded him with this handsome watch-chain.

USHERS (announcing). Mr. Robinson Crusoe! (He comes in.)

FATHER CHRISTMAS. How do you do?

CRUSOE (bowing). I'm a little late, I'm afraid, sir. My raft was

delayed by adverse gales.

(FATHER CHRISTMAS introduces him to the HUBBARDS, who inform him that

the weather is very seasonable.)

USHERS. Miss Riding Hood! (She comes in.)

FATHER CHRISTMAS. How do you do?

RIDING HOOD (curtseying). I hope I am in time, sir. I had to look in

on my grandmother on the way here.

(FATHER CHRISTMAS makes the necessary introductions.)

MRS. HUBBARD (to CRUSOE). Do come and see me, Mr. Crusoe. Any Friday.

I should like your advice about my parrot. He's moulting in all the

wrong places.

MR. HUBBARD (to RED RIDING HOOD). I don't know if you're interested in

wolves at all, Miss Hood. I heard a very good story about one the

other day. (He begins to tell it, but she has hurried away before he

can remember whether it was Thursday or Friday.)

USHERS. Baron Bluebeard! (He comes in.)

FATHER CHRISTMAS. How do you do?

BLUEBEARD (bowing). I trust you have not been waiting for me, sir. I

had a slight argument with my wife before starting, which delayed me

somewhat.

(FATHER CHRISTMAS forgives him.)

USHERS. Princess Goldilocks!

FATHER CHRISTMAS. How do you do?

GOLDILOCKS (curtseying). I brought the youngest bear with me--do you

mind? (She introduces the youngest bear to FATHER CHRISTMAS and the

other guests) Say, how do you do, darling? (To an USHER) Will you give

him a little porridge, please, and if you have got a nice bed where he

could rest a little afterwards--he gets tired so quickly.

USHER. Certainly, your Royal Highness.

(Music begins.)

GOLDILOCKS (to FATHER CHRISTMAS). Are we going to dance? How lovely!

FATHER CHRISTMAS (to the HUBBARDS). You will dance, won't you?

MRS. HUBBARD. I think not just at first, thank you.

GOLDILOCKS (to CRUSOE). Come along!

CRUSOE. I am a little out of practice--er--but if you don't

mind--er--(He comes.)

BLUEBEARD (to RIDING HOOD). May I have the pleasure?

MRS. HUBBARD (to RIDING HOOD). Be careful, dear; he has a very bad

reputation.

RIDING HOOD (to BLUEBEARD). You don't eat people, do you?

BLUEBEARD (pained by this injustice). Never!

RIDING HOOD. Oh then, I don't mind. But I do hate being eaten.

(Now we can't possibly describe the whole dance to you, for in every

corner of the big ballroom couples were revolving and sliding, and

making small talk with each other. So we will just take two specimen

conversations.)

CRUSOE (nervous, poor man). Princess Goldilocks, may I speak to you on

a matter of some importance to me?

GOLDILOCKS. I wish you would.

CRUSOE (looking across at BLUEBEARD and RED RIDING HOOD, who are

revolving close by). Alone.

GOLDILOCKS (to BLUEBEARD). Do you mind? You can have your turn

afterwards.

BLUEBEARD (to RIDING HOOD). Shall we adjourn to the Buffet?

RIDING HOOD. Oh, do let's. [They adjourn.

CRUSOE (bravely). Princess, I am a lonely man.

GOLDILOCKS (encouragingly). Yes, Robinson?

CRUSOE. I am not much of a one for society, and I don't quite know how

to put these things, but--er--if you would like to share my island,

I--I should so love to have you there.

GOLDILOCKS. Oh, Robbie!

CRUSOE (warming to it). I have a very comfortable house, and a

man-servant, and an excellent view from the south windows, and several

thousands of acres of good rough-shooting, and--oh, do say you'll

come!

GOLDILOCKS. May I bring my bears with me?

CRUSOE. Of course! I ought to have said that. I have a great fondness

for animals.

GOLDILOCKS. How sweet of you! But perhaps I ought to warn you that we

all like porridge. Have you---

CRUSOE. I have a hundred acres of oats.

GOLDILOCKS. Then, Robinson, I am yours. (They embrace) There! Now tell

me--did you make all your clothes yourself?

CRUSOE (proudly). All of them.

GOLDILOCKS (going off with him). How wonderful of you! Really you

hardly seem to want a wife.

[They go out. Now it is the other couple's turn.

Enter, then, BLUEBEARD and RIDING HOOD

BLUEBEARD. Perhaps I ought to tell you at once, Miss Riding Hood, that

I have been married before.

RIDING HOOD. Yes?

BLUEBEARD. My last wife unfortunately died just before I started out

here this evening.

RIDING HOOD (calmly). Did you kill her?

BLUEBEARD (taken aback). I--I--I--

RIDING HOOD. Are you quite a nice man, Bluebeard?

BLUEBEARD. W-what do you mean? I am a very _rich_ man. If you will

marry me, you will live in a wonderful castle, full of everything that

you want.

RIDING HOOD. That will be rather jolly.

BLUEBEARD (dramatically) But there is one room into which you must

never go. (Holding up a key) Here is the key of it. (He offers it to

her.)

RIDING HOOD (indifferently) But if I'm never to go into it, I shan't

want the key.

BLUEBEARD (upset). You--you _must_ have the key.

RIDING HOOD. Why?

BLUEBEARD. The--the others all had it.

RIDING HOOD (coldly). Bluebeard, you aren't going to talk about your

_other_ wives all the time, are you?

BLUEBEARD. N--no.

RIDING HOOD. Then don't be silly. And take this key, and go and tidy

up that ridiculous room of yours, and when it's nice and clean, and

when you've shaved off that absurd beard, perhaps I'll marry you.

BLUEBEARD (furiously drawing his sword). Madam!

RIDING HOOD. Don't do it here. You'll want some hot water.

BLUEBEARD (trying to put his sword back). This is too much, this is--

RIDING HOOD. You're putting it in the wrong way round.

BLUEBEARD (stiffly). Thank you. (He manages to get it in.)

RIDING HOOD. Well, do you want to marry me?

BLUEBEARD. Yes!

RIDING HOOD. Sure?

BLUEBEARD (admiringly). More than ever. You're the first woman I've

met who hasn't been afraid of me.

RIDING HOOD (surprised). Are you very alarming? Wolves frighten me

sometimes, but not just silly men. . . . (Giving him her hand) All right

then. But you'll do what I said?

BLUEBEARD. Beloved one, I will do anything for you.

(CRUSOE and GOLDILOCKS come back. Probably it will occur to the four

of them to sing a song indicative of the happy family life awaiting

them. On the other hand they may prefer to dance. . . .)

But enough of this. Let us get on to the great event of the evening.

Ladies and gentlemen, are you all assembled? Then silence, please, for

FATHER CHRISTMAS.

FATHER CHRISTMAS. Ladies and gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to

see you here at my Court this evening; and in particular my friends

Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard, of whom I have been too long neglectful.

However, I hope to make up for it to-night. (To an USHER) Disclose the

Christmas Tree!

(The Christmas Tree is disclosed, and--what do you think? Children

disguised as crackers are hanging from every branch! Well, I never!)

FATHER CHRISTMAS (quite calmly). Distribute the presents!

(An USHER takes down the children one by one and places them in a row,

reading from the labels on them. "MRS. HUBBARD, MR. HUBBARD"

alternately.)

USHER (handing list to MR. HUBBARD). Here is the nominal roll, sir.

MR. HUBBARD (looking at it in amazement). What's this? (MRS. HUBBARD

looks over his shoulder) Ada, Bertram, Caroline--My darling one!

MRS. HUBBARD. Henry! Our children at last! Oh, are they all--_all_

there?

MR. HUBBARD. We'll soon see, dear. Ada!

ADA (springing to attention). Father! (She stands at ease.)

MR. HUBBARD. Bertram! . . . (And so on up to ELSIE) . . . Frank!

FRANK. Father!

MR. HUBBARD. There you are, darling, I told you he had curly brown

hair. . . . Gwendoline! (And so on.)

MRS. HUBBARD (to FATHER CHRISTMAS). Oh thank you so much. It is sweet

of you.

MR. HUBBARD (to FATHER CHRISTMAS). We are slightly overcome. Do you

mind if we just dance it off. (FATHER CHRISTMAS nods genially.) Come

on, children!

(He holds out his hands, and he and his wife and the children dance

round in a ring singing, "Here we go round the Christmas Tree, all on

a Christmas evening. . . .")

(And then--But at this moment JAMES and ROSEMARY and the HUBBARD

children stopped thinking, so of course the play came to an end. And

if there were one or two bits in it which the children didn't quite

understand, that was JAMES'S fault. He never ought to have been

thinking at all, really.)

MR. PIM PASSES BY

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS

CHARACTERS

GEORGE MARDEN, J.P.

OLIVIA (his wife).

DINAH (his niece).

LADY MARDEN (his aunt).

BRIAN STRANGE.

CARRAWAY PIM.

ANNE.

* * * * *

The first performance of this play in London took place at the New

Theatre on January 5, 1920, with the following cast:

George Marden--BEN WEBSTER.

Olivia--IRENE VANBRUGH.

Dinah--GEORGETTE COHAN.

Lady Marden--ETHEL GRIFFIES.

Brian Strange--LESLIE HOWARD.

Carraway Pim--DION BOUCICAULT.

Anne--ETHEL WELLESLEY.

MR. PIM PASSES BY

ACT I

(The morning-room at Marden House (Buckinghamshire) decided more than

a hundred years ago that it was all right, and has not bothered about

itself since. Visitors to the house have called the result such

different adjectives as "mellow" "old-fashioned," "charming"--even

"baronial" and "antique"; but nobody ever said it was "exciting."

Sometimes OLIVIA wants it to be more exciting, and last week she let

herself go over some new curtains. At present they are folded up and

waiting for her; she still has the rings to put on. It is obvious that

the curtains alone will overdo the excitement; they will have to be

harmonised with a new carpet and cushions. OLIVIA has her eye on just

the things, but one has to go carefully with GEORGE. What was good

enough for his great-great-grandfather is good enough for him.

However, we can trust OLIVIA to see him through it, although it may

take time.)

(There are two ways of coming into the room; by the open windows

leading from the terrace or by the door. On this pleasant July morning

MR. PIM chooses the latter way--or rather ANNE chooses it for him; and

old MR. PIM, wistful, kindly, gentle, little MR. PIM, living in some

world of his own whither we cannot follow, ambles after her.)

ANNE. I'll tell Mr. Marden you're here, sir. Mr. Pim, isn't it?

PIM (coming back to this world). Yes--er--Mr. Carraway Pim. He doesn't

know me, you understand, but if he could just see me for a

moment--er--(He fumbles in his pockets) I gave you that letter?

ANNE. Yes, sir, I'll give it to him.

PIM (bringing out a letter which is not the one he was looking for,

but which reminds him of something else he has forgotten). Dear me!

ANNE. Yes, sir?

PIM. I ought to have sent a telegram, but I can do it on my way back.

You have a telegraph office in the village?

ANNE. Oh yes, sir. If you turn to the left when you get outside the

gates, it isn't more than a hundred yards down the hill.

PIM. Thank you, thank you. Very stupid of me to have forgotten.

[ANNE goes out.

(MR. PIM wanders about the room humming to himself, and looking

vaguely at the pictures. He has his back to the door as DINAH comes

in. She is nineteen, very pretty, very happy, and full of boyish high

spirits and conversation.)

DINAH. Hullo!

PIM (turning round). Ah, good morning, Mrs. Marden. You must forgive

my--er--

DINAH. Oh I say, I'm not Mrs. Marden. I'm Dinah.

PIM (with a bow). Then I will say, Good morning, Miss Diana.

DINAH (reproachfully). Now, look here, if you and I are going to be

friends you mustn't do that. Dinah, _not_ Diana. Do remember it,

there's a good man, because I get so tired of correcting people. Have

you come to stay with us?

PIM. Well no, Miss--er--Dinah.

DINAH (nodding). That's right. I can see I shan't have to speak to

_you_ again. Now tell me _your_ name, and I bet you I get it right

first time. And do sit down.

PIM (sitting down). Thank you. My name is--er--Pim, Carraway Pim--

DINAH. Pim, that's easy.

PIM. And I have a letter of introduction to your father--

DINAH. Oh no; now you're going wrong again, Mr. Pim. George isn't my

father; he's my uncle. _Uncle_ George--he doesn't like me calling him

George. Olivia doesn't mind--I mean she doesn't mind being called

Olivia, but George is rather touchy. You see, he's been my guardian

since I was about two, and then about five years ago he married a

widow called Mrs. Telworthy--that's Olivia--so she became my Aunt

Olivia, only she lets me drop the Aunt. Got that?

PIM (a little alarmed). I--I think so, Miss Marden.

DINAH (admiringly). I say, you _are_ quick, Mr. Pim. Well, if you take

my advice, when you've finished your business with George, you will

hang about a bit and see if you can't see Olivia. She's simply

devastating. I don't wonder George fell in love with her.

PIM. It's only the merest matter of business--just a few minutes with

your uncle--I'm afraid I shall hardly--

DINAH. Well, you must please yourself, Mr. Pim. I'm just giving you a

friendly word of advice. Naturally, I was awfully glad to get such a

magnificent aunt, because, of course, marriage _is_ rather a toss up,

isn't it, and George might have gone off with anybody. It's different

on the stage, where guardians always marry their wards, but George

couldn't marry _me_ because I'm his niece. Mind you, I don't say that

I should have had him, because between ourselves he's a little bit

old-fashioned.

PIM. So he married--er--Mrs. Marden instead.

DINAH. Mrs. Telworthy--don't say you've forgotten already, just when

you were getting so good at names. Mrs. Telworthy. You see, Olivia

married the Telworthy man and went to Australia with him, and he drank

himself to death in the bush, or wherever you drink yourself to death

out there, and Olivia came home to England, and met my uncle, and he

fell in love with her and proposed to her, and he came into my room

that night--I was about fourteen--and turned on the light and said,

"Dinah, how would you like to have a beautiful aunt of your very own?"

And I said: "Congratulations, George." That was the first time I

called him George. Of course, I'd seen it coming for _weeks_.

Telworthy, isn't it a funny name?

PIM. Very singular. From Australia, you say?

DINAH. Yes, I always say that he's probably still alive, and will turn

up here one morning and annoy George, because that's what first

husbands always do in books, but I'm afraid there's not much chance.

PIM (shocked). Miss Marden!

DINAH. Well, of course, I don't really _want_ it to happen, but it

_would_ be rather exciting, wouldn't it? However, things like that

never seem to occur down here, somehow. There was a hay-rick burnt

last year about a mile away, but that isn't quite the same thing, is

it?

PIM. No, I should say that that was certainly different.

DINAH. Of course, something very, very wonderful did happen last

night, but I'm not sure if I know you well enough---- (She looks at

him hesitatingly.)

PIM (uncomfortably). Really, Miss Marden, I am only a--a passer-by,

here to-day and gone to-morrow. You really mustn't----

DINAH. And yet there's something about you, Mr. Pim, which inspires

confidence. The fact is--(in a stage whisper)--I got engaged last

night!

PIM. Dear me, let me congratulate you.

DINAH. I expect that's why George is keeping you such a long time.

Brian, my young man, the well-known painter--only nobody has ever

heard of him--he's smoking a pipe with George in the library and

asking for his niece's hand. Isn't it exciting? You're really rather

lucky, Mr. Pim--I mean being told so soon. Even Olivia doesn't know

yet.

PIM (getting up). Yes, yes. I congratulate you, Miss Marden. Perhaps

it would be better----

[ANNE comes in.

ANNE. Mr. Marden is out at the moment, sir---- Oh, I didn't see you,

Miss Dinah.

DINAH. It's all right, Anne. _I'm_ looking after Mr. Pim.

ANNE. Yes, Miss.

[She goes out.

DINAH (excitedly). That's me. They can't discuss me in the library

without breaking down, so they're walking up and down outside, and

slashing at the thistles in order to conceal their emotion. _You_

know. I expect Brian----

PIM (looking at his watch). Yes, I think, Miss Marden, I had better go

now and return a little later. I have a telegram which I want to send,

and perhaps by the time I came back----

DINAH. Oh, but how disappointing of you, when we were getting on

together so nicely. And it was just going to be your turn to tell me

all about _your_self.

PIM. I have really nothing to tell, Miss Marden. I have a letter of

introduction to Mr. Marden, who in turn will give me, I hope, a letter

to a certain distinguished man whom it is necessary for me to meet.

That is all. (Holding out his hand) And now, Miss Marden----

DINAH. Oh, I'll start you on your way to the post office. I want to

know if you're married, and all that sort of thing. You've got heaps

to tell me, Mr. Pim. Have you got your hat? That's right. Then

we'll--hullo, here's Brian.

(BRIAN STRANGE comes in at the windows. He is what GEORGE calls a

damned futuristic painter-chap, aged twenty-four. To look at, he is a

very pleasant boy, rather untidily dressed.)

BRIAN (nodding). How do you do?

DINAH (seizing him). Brian, this is Mr. Pim. Mr. Carraway Pim. He's

been telling me all about himself. It's so interesting. He's just

going to send a telegram, and then he's coming back again. Mr. Pim,

this is Brian--_you_ know.

BRIAN (smiling and shaking hands). How do you do?

DINAH (pleadingly). You _won't_ mind going to the post office by

yourself, will you, because, you see, Brian and I--(she looks lovingly

at BRIAN).

PIM (because they are so young). Miss Dinah and Mr.--er--Brian, I have

only come into your lives for a moment, and it is probable that I

shall now pass out of them for ever, but you will allow an old man----

DINAH. Oh, not old!

PIM (chuckling happily). Well, a middle-aged man--to wish you both

every happiness in the years that you have before you. Good-bye,

good-bye.

[He disappears gently through the windows.

DINAH. Brian, he'll get lost if he goes that way.

BRIAN (going to the windows and calling after him). Round to the left,

sir. . . . That's right. (He comes back into the room) Rum old bird. Who

is he?

DINAH. Darling, you haven't kissed me yet.

BRIAN (taking her in his arms). I oughtn't to, but then one never

ought to do the nice things.

DINAH. Why oughtn't you?

(They sit on the sofa together.)

BRIAN. Well, we said we'd be good until we'd told your uncle and aunt

all about it. You see, being a guest in their house----

DINAH. But, darling child, what _have_ you been doing all this morning

_except_ telling George?

BRIAN. _Trying_ to tell George.

DINAH (nodding). Yes, of course, there's a difference.

BRIAN. I think he guessed there was something up, and he took me down

to see the pigs--he said he had to see the pigs at once--I don't know

why; an appointment perhaps. And we talked about pigs all the way, and

I couldn't say, "Talking about pigs, I want to marry your niece----"

DINAH (with mock indignation). Of course you couldn't.

BRIAN. No. Well, you see how it was. And then when we'd finished

talking about pigs, we started talking _to_ the pigs----

DINAH (eagerly). Oh, _how_ is Arnold?

BRIAN. The little black-and-white one? He's very jolly, I believe, but

naturally I wasn't thinking about him much. I was wondering how to

begin. And then Lumsden came up, and wanted to talk pig-food, and the

atmosphere grew less and less romantic, and--and I gradually drifted

away.

DINAH. Poor darling. Well, we shall have to approach him through

Olivia.

BRIAN. But I always wanted to tell her first; she's so much easier.

Only you wouldn't let me.

DINAH. That's _your_ fault, Brian. You would tell Olivia that she

ought to have orange-and-black curtains.

BRIAN. But she _wants_ orange-and-black curtains.

DINAH. Yes, but George says he's not going to have any futuristic

nonsense in an honest English country house, which has been good

enough for his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather,

and--and all the rest of them. So there's a sort of strained feeling

between Olivia and George just now, and if Olivia were to--sort of

recommend you, well, it wouldn't do you much good.

BRIAN (looking at her). I see. Of course I know what _you_ want,

Dinah.

DINAH. What do I want?

BRIAN. You want a secret engagement, and notes left under door-mats,

and meetings by the withered thorn, when all the household is asleep.

_I_ know you.

DINAH. Oh, but it is such fun! I love meeting people by withered

thorns.

BRIAN. Well, I'm not going to have it.

DINAH (childishly). Oh, George! Look at us being husbandy!

BRIAN. You babe! I adore you. (He kisses her and holds her away from

him and looks at her) You know, you're rather throwing yourself away

on me. Do you mind?

DINAH. Not a bit.

BRIAN. We shall never be rich, but we shall have lots of fun, and meet

interesting people, and feel that we're doing something worth doing,

and not getting paid nearly enough for it, and we can curse the

Academy together and the British Public, and--oh, it's an exciting

life.

DINAH (seeing it). I shall love it.

BRIAN. I'll make you love it. You shan't be sorry, Dinah.

DINAH. You shan't be sorry either, Brian.

BRIAN (looking at her lovingly). Oh, I know I shan't. . . . What will

Olivia think about it? Will she be surprised?

DINAH. She's never surprised. She always seems to have thought of

things about a week before they happen. George just begins to get hold

of them about a week _after_ they've happened. (Considering him) After

all, there's no reason why George _shouldn't_ like you, darling.

BRIAN. I'm not his sort, you know.

DINAH. You're more Olivia's sort. Well, we'll tell Olivia this

morning.

OLIVIA (coming in). And what are you going to tell Olivia this

morning? (She looks at them with a smile) Oh, well, I think I can

guess.

(Shall we describe OLIVIA? But you will know all about her before the

day is over.)

DINAH (jumping up). Olivia, darling!

BRIAN (following). Say you understand, Mrs. Marden.

OLIVIA. Mrs. Marden, I am afraid, is a very dense person, Brian, but I

think if you asked Olivia if she understood----

BRIAN. Bless you, Olivia. I knew you'd be on our side.

DINAH. Of course she would.

OLIVIA. I don't know if it's usual to kiss an aunt-in-law, Brian, but

Dinah is such a very special sort of niece that--(she inclines her

cheek and BRIAN kisses it).

DINAH. I say, you _are_ in luck to-day, Brian.

OLIVIA (going over to her chair by the work-table and getting to

business with the curtains) And how many people have been told the

good news?

BRIAN. Nobody yet.

DINAH. Except Mr. Pim.

BRIAN. Oh, does _he_--

OLIVIA. Who's Mr. Pim?

DINAH. Oh, he just happened--I say, are those _the_ curtains? Then

you're going to have them after all?

OLIVIA (with an air of surprise). After all what? But I decided on

them long ago. (to BRIAN) You haven't told George yet?

BRIAN. I began to, you know, but I never got any farther than

"Er--there's just--er--"

DINAH. George _would_ talk about pigs all the time.

OLIVIA. Well, I suppose you want me to help you.

DINAH. Do, darling.

BRIAN. It would be awfully decent of you. Of course, I'm not quite his

sort really--

DINAH. You're _my_ sort.

BRIAN. But I don't think he objects to me, and--

(GEORGE comes in, a typical, narrow-minded, honest country gentleman

of forty odd.)

GEORGE (at the windows). What's all this about a Mr. Pim? (He kicks

some of the mud off his boots) Who is he? Where is he? I had most

important business with Lumsden, and the girl comes down and cackles

about a Mr. Pim, or Ping, or something. Where did I put his card?

(Bringing it out) Carraway Pim. Never heard of him in my life.

DINAH. He said he had a letter of introduction, Uncle George.

GEORGE. Oh, _you_ saw him, did you? Yes, that reminds me, there _was_

a letter--(he brings it out and reads it).

DINAH. He had to send a telegram. He's coming back.

OLIVIA. Pass me those scissors, Brian.

BRIAN. These? (He picks them up and comes close to her.)

OLIVIA. Thank you. (She indicates GEORGE'S back. "Now?" says BRIAN

with his eyebrows. She nods.)

GEORGE (reading). Ah well, a friend of Brymer's. Glad to oblige him.

Yes, I know the man he wants. Coming back, you say, Dinah? Then I'll

be going back. Send him down to the farm, Olivia, when he comes. (to

BRIAN) Hallo, what happened to _you_?

OLIVIA. Don't go, George, there's something we want to talk about.

GEORGE. Hallo, what's this?

BRIAN (to OLIVIA). Shall I----?

OLIVIA. Yes.

BRIAN (stepping out). I've been wanting to tell you all this morning,

sir, only I didn't seem to have an opportunity of getting it out.

GEORGE. Well, what is it?

BRIAN. I want to marry Dinah, sir.

GEORGE. You want to marry Dinah? God bless my soul!

DINAH (rushing to him and putting her cheek against his coat). Oh, do

say you like the idea, Uncle George.

GEORGE. Like the idea! Have you heard of this nonsense, Olivia?

OLIVIA. They've just this moment told me, George. I think they would

be happy together.

GEORGE (to BRIAN). And what do you propose to be happy together _on_?

BRIAN. Well, of course, it doesn't amount to much at present, but we

shan't starve.

DINAH. Brian got fifty pounds for a picture last March!

GEORGE (a little upset by this). Oh! (Recovering gamely) And how many

pictures have you sold since?

BRIAN. Well, none, but--

GEORGE. None! And I don't wonder. Who the devil is going to buy

pictures with triangular clouds and square sheep? And they call that

Art nowadays! Good God, man, (waving him to the windows) go outside

and _look_ at the clouds!

OLIVIA. If he draws round clouds in future, George, will you let him

marry Dinah?

GEORGE. What--what? Yes, of course, you _would_ be on his side--all

this Futuristic nonsense. I'm just taking these clouds as an example.

I suppose I can see as well as any man in the county, and I say that

clouds _aren't_ triangular.

BRIAN. After all, sir, at my age one is naturally experimenting, and

trying to find one's (with a laugh)--well, it sounds priggish, but

one's medium of expression. I shall find out what I want to do

directly, but I think I shall always be able to earn enough to live

on. Well, I have for the last three years.

GEORGE. I see, and now you want to experiment with a wife, and you

propose to start experimenting with _my_ niece?

BRIAN (with a shrug). Well, of course, if you--

OLIVIA. You could help the experiment, darling, by giving Dinah a good

allowance until she's twenty-one.

GEORGE. Help the experiment! I don't _want_ to help the experiment.

OLIVIA (apologetically). Oh, I thought you did.

GEORGE. You will talk as if I was made of money. What with taxes

always going up and rents always going down, it's as much as we can do

to rub along as we are, without making allowances to everybody who

thinks she wants to get married. (to BRIAN) And that's thanks to you,

my friend.

BRIAN (surprised) To me?

OLIVIA. You never told me, darling. What's Brian been doing?

DINAH (indignantly). He hasn't been doing anything.

GEORGE. He's one of your Socialists who go turning the country upside

down.

OLIVIA. But even Socialists must get married sometimes.

GEORGE. I don't see any necessity.

OLIVIA. But you'd have nobody to damn after dinner, darling, if they

all died out.

BRIAN. Really, sir, I don't see what my politics and my art have got

to do with it. I'm perfectly ready not to talk about either when I'm

in your house, and as Dinah doesn't seem to object to them--

DINAH. I should think she doesn't.

GEORGE. Oh, you can get round the women, I daresay.

BRIAN. Well, it's Dinah I want to marry and live with. So what it

really comes to is that you don't think I can support a wife.

GEORGE. Well, if you're going to do it by selling pictures, I don't

think you can.

BRIAN. All right, tell me how much you want me to earn in a year, and

I'll earn it.

GEORGE (hedging). It isn't merely a question of money. I just mention

that as one thing--one of the important things. In addition to that, I

think you are both too young to marry. I don't think you know your own

minds, and I am not at all persuaded that, with what I venture to call

your outrageous tastes, you and my niece will live happily together.

Just because she thinks she loves you, Dinah may persuade herself now

that she agrees with all you say and do, but she has been properly

brought up in an honest English country household, and--er--she--well,

in short, I cannot at all approve of any engagement between you.

(Getting up) Olivia, if this Mr.--er--Pim comes, I shall be down at

the farm. You might send him along to me.

(He walks towards the windows.)

BRIAN (indignantly). Is there any reason why I shouldn't marry a girl

who has been properly brought up?

GEORGE. I think you know my views, Strange.

OLIVIA. George, wait a moment, dear. We can't quite leave it like

this.

GEORGE. I have said all I want to say on the subject.

OLIVIA. Yes, darling, but I haven't begun to say all that _I_ want to

say on the subject.

GEORGE. Of course, if you have anything to say, Olivia, I will listen

to it; but I don't know that this is quite the time, or that you have

chosen--(looking darkly at the curtains)--quite the occupation likely

to--er--endear your views to me.

DINAH (mutinously). I may as well tell you, Uncle George, that _I_

have got a good deal to say, too.

OLIVIA. I can guess what you are going to say, Dinah, and I think you

had better keep it for the moment.

DINAH (meekly). Yes, Aunt Olivia.

OLIVIA. Brian, you might take her outside for a walk. I expect you

have plenty to talk about.

GEORGE. Now mind, Strange, no love-making. I put you on your honour

about that.

BRIAN. I'll do my best to avoid it, sir.

DINAH (cheekily). May I take his arm if we go up a hill?

OLIVIA. I'm sure you'll know how to behave--both of you.

BRIAN. Come on, then, Dinah.

DINAH. Righto.

GEORGE (as they go). And if you do see any clouds, Strange, take a

good look at them. (He chuckles to himself) Triangular clouds--I never

heard of such nonsense. (He goes back to his chair at the

writing-table) Futuristic rubbish. . . . Well, Olivia?

OLIVIA. Well, George?

GEORGE. What are you doing?

OLIVIA. Making curtains, George. Won't they be rather sweet? Oh, but I

forgot--you don't like them.

GEORGE. I don't like them, and what is more, I don't mean to have them

in my house. As I told you yesterday, this is the house of a simple

country gentleman, and I don't want any of these new-fangled ideas in

it.

OLIVIA. Is marrying for love a new-fangled idea?

GEORGE. We'll come to that directly. None of you women can keep to the

point. What I am saying now is that the house of my fathers and

forefathers is good enough for me.

OLIVIA. Do you know, George, I can hear one of your ancestors saying

that to his wife in their smelly old cave, when the new-fangled idea

of building houses was first suggested. "The Cave of my Fathers is--"

GEORGE. That's ridiculous. Naturally we must have progress. But that's

just the point. (Indicating the curtains) I don't call this sort of

thing progress. It's--ah--retrogression.

OLIVIA. Well, anyhow, it's pretty.

GEORGE. There I disagree with you. And I must say once more that I

will not have them hanging in my house.

OLIVIA. Very well, George. (But she goes on working.)

GEORGE. That being so, I don't see the necessity of going on with

them.

OLIVIA. Well, I must do something with them now I've got the material.

I thought perhaps I could sell them when they're finished--as we're so

poor.

GEORGE. What do you mean--so poor?

OLIVIA. Well, you said just now that you couldn't give Dinah an

allowance because rents had gone down.

GEORGE (annoyed). Confound it, Olivia! Keep to the point! We'll talk

about Dinah's affairs directly. We're discussing our own affairs at

the moment.

OLIVIA. But what is there to discuss?

GEORGE. Those ridiculous things.

OLIVIA. But we've finished that. You've said you wouldn't have them

hanging in your house, and I've said, "Very well, George." Now we can

go on to Dinah and Brian.

GEORGE (shouting). But put these beastly things away.

OLIVIA (rising and gathering up the curtains). Very well, George. (She

puts them away, slowly, gracefully. There is an uncomfortable silence.

Evidently somebody ought to apologise.)

GEORGE (realising that he is the one). Er--look here, Olivia, old

girl, you've been a jolly good wife to me, and we don't often have

rows, and if I've been rude to you about this--lost my temper a bit

perhaps, what?--I'll say I'm sorry. May I have a kiss?

OLIVIA (holding up her face). George, darling! (He kisses her.) Do you

love me?

GEORGE. You know I do, old girl.

OLIVIA. As much as Brian loves Dinah?

GEORGE (stiffly). I've said all I want to say about that. (He goes

away from her.)

OLIVIA. Oh, but there must be lots you want to say--and perhaps don't

like to. Do tell me, darling.

GEORGE. What it comes to is this. I consider that Dinah is too young

to choose a husband for herself, and that Strange isn't the husband I

should choose for her.

OLIVIA. You were calling him Brian yesterday.

GEORGE. Yesterday I regarded him as a boy, now he wants me to look

upon him as a man.

OLIVIA. He's twenty-four.

GEORGE. And Dinah's nineteen. Ridiculous!

OLIVIA. If he'd been a Conservative, and thought that clouds were

round, I suppose he'd have seemed older, somehow.

GEORGE. That's a different point altogether. That has nothing to do

with his age.

OLIVIA (innocently). Oh, I thought it had.

GEORGE. What I am objecting to is these ridiculously early marriages

before either party knows its own mind, much less the mind of the

other party. Such marriages invariably lead to unhappiness.

OLIVIA. Of course, _my_ first marriage wasn't a happy one.

GEORGE. As you know, Olivia, I dislike speaking about your first

marriage at all, and I had no intention of bringing it up now, but

since you mention it--well, that is a case in point.

OLIVIA (looking back at it). When I was eighteen, I was in love. Or

perhaps I only thought I was, and I don't know if I should have been

happy or not if I had married him. But my father made me marry a man

called Jacob Telworthy; and when things were too hot for him in

England--"too hot for him"--I think that was the expression we used in

those days--then we went to Australia, and I left him there, and the

only happy moment I had in all my married life was on the morning when

I saw in the papers that he was dead.

GEORGE (very uncomfortable). Yes, yes, my dear, I know. You must have

had a terrible time. I can hardly bear to think about it. My only hope

is that I have made up to you for it in some degree. But I don't see

what bearing it has upon Dinah's case.

OLIVIA. Oh, none, except that _my_ father _liked_ Jacob's political

opinions and his views on art. I expect that that was why he chose him

for me.

GEORGE. You seem to think that I wish to choose a husband for Dinah. I

don't at all. Let her choose whom she likes as long as he can support

her and there's a chance of their being happy together. Now, with

regard to this fellow--

OLIVIA. You mean Brian?

GEORGE. He's got no money, and he's been brought up in quite a

different way from Dinah. Dinah may be prepared to believe

that--er--all cows are blue, and that--er--waves are square, but she

won't go on believing it for ever.

OLIVIA. Neither will Brian.

GEORGE. Well, that's what I keep telling him, only he won't see it.

Just as I keep telling you about those ridiculous curtains. It seems

to me that I am the only person in the house with any eyesight left.

OLIVIA. Perhaps you are, darling; but you must let us find out our own

mistakes for ourselves. At any rate, Brian is a gentleman; he loves

Dinah, Dinah loves him; he's earning enough to support himself, and

you are earning enough to support Dinah. I think it's worth risking,

George.

GEORGE (stiffly). I can only say the whole question demands much more

anxious thought than you seem to have given it. You say that he is a

gentleman. He knows how to behave, I admit; but if his morals are as

topsy-turvy as his tastes and--er--politics, as I've no doubt they

are, then--er--In short, I do _not_ approve of Brian Strange as a

husband for my niece and ward.

OLIVIA (looking at him thoughtfully). You _are_ a curious mixture,

George. You were so very unconventional when you married me, and

you're so very conventional when Brian wants to marry Dinah. . . . George

Marden to marry the widow of a convict!

GEORGE. Convict! What do you mean?

OLIVIA. Jacob Telworthy, convict--I forget his number--surely I told

you all this, dear, when we got engaged?

GEORGE. Never!

OLIVIA. I told you how he carelessly put the wrong signature to a

cheque for a thousand pounds in England; how he made a little mistake

about two or three companies he'd promoted in Australia; and how--

GEORGE. Yes, yes, but you never told me he was _convicted_!

OLIVIA. What difference does it make?

GEORGE. My dear Olivia, if you can't see that--a convict!

OLIVIA. So, you see, we needn't be too particular about our niece,

need we?

GEORGE. I think we had better leave your first husband out of the

conversation altogether. I never wished to refer to him; I never wish

to hear about him again. I certainly had not realised that he was

actually--er--_convicted_ for his--er--

OLIVIA. Mistakes.

GEORGE. Well, we needn't go into that. As for this other matter, I

don't for a moment take it seriously. Dinah is an exceptionally pretty

girl, and young Strange is a good-looking boy. If they are attracted

to each other, it is a mere outward attraction which I am convinced

will not lead to any lasting happiness. That must be regarded as my

last word in the matter, Olivia. If this Mr.--er--what was his name,

comes, I shall be down at the farm.

[He goes out by the door.

(Left alone, OLIVIA brings out her curtains again, and gets calmly to

work upon them.)

(DINAH and BRIAN come in by the windows.)

DINAH. Finished?

OLIVIA. Oh no, I've got all these rings to put on.

DINAH. I meant talking to George.

BRIAN. We walked about outside--

DINAH. Until we heard him _not_ talking to you any more--

BRIAN. And we didn't kiss each other once.

DINAH. Brian was very George-like. He wouldn't even let me tickle the

back of his neck. (She goes up suddenly to OLIVIA and kneels by her

and kisses her) Darling, being George-like is a very nice thing to

be--I mean a nice thing for other people to be--I mean--oh, you know

what I mean. But say that he's going to be decent about it.

OLIVIA. Of course he is, Dinah.

BRIAN. You mean he'll let me come here as--as--

DINAH. As my young man?

OLIVIA. Oh, I think so.

DINAH. Olivia, you're a wonder. Have you really talked him round?

OLIVIA. I haven't said anything yet. But I daresay I shall think of

something.

DINAH (disappointedly). Oh!

BRIAN (making the best of it). After all, Dinah, I'm going back to

London to-morrow--

OLIVIA. You can be good for one more day, Dinah, and then when Brian

isn't here, we'll see what we can do.

DINAH. Yes, but I didn't want him to go back to-morrow.

BRIAN (sternly). Must. Hard work before me. Earn thousands a year.

Paint the Mayor and Corporation of Pudsey, life-size, including chains

of office; paint slice of haddock on plate. Copy Landseer for old

gentleman in Bayswater. Design antimacassar for middle-aged sofa in

Streatham. Earn a living for you, Dinah.

DINAH (giggling). Oh, Brian, you're heavenly. What fun we shall have

when we're married.

BRIAN (stiffly). Sir Brian Strange, R.A., if you please, Miss Marden.

Sir Brian Strange, R.A., writes: "Your Sanogene has proved a most

excellent tonic. After completing the third acre of my Academy picture

'The Mayor and Corporation of Pudsey' I was completely exhausted, but

one bottle of Sanogene revived me, and I finished the remaining seven

acres at a single sitting."

OLIVIA (looking about her). Brian, find my scissors for me.

BRIAN. Scissors. (Looking for them) Sir Brian Strange, R.A., looks for

scissors. (Finding them) Aha! Once more we must record an unqualified

success for the eminent Academician. Your scissors.

OLIVIA. Thank you so much.

DINAH. Come on, Brian, let's go out. I feel open-airy.

OLIVIA. Don't be late for lunch, there's good people. Lady Marden is

coming.

DINAH. Aunt Juli-ah! Help! (She faints in BRIAN'S arms) That means a

clean pinafore. Brian, you'll jolly well have to brush your hair.

BRIAN (feeling it). I suppose there's no time now to go up to London

and get it cut?

[Enter ANNE, followed by PIM.

ANNE. Mr. Pim!

DINAH (delighted). Hullo, Mr. Pim! Here we are again! You can't get

rid of us so easily, you see.

PIM. I--er--dear Miss Marden--

OLIVIA. How do you do, Mr. Pim? I can't get up, but do come and sit

down. My husband will be here in a minute. Anne, send somebody down to

the farm--

ANNE. I think I heard the Master in the library, madam.

OLIVIA. Oh, will you tell him then?

ANNE. Yes, madam.

[ANNE goes out.

OLIVIA. You'll stay to lunch, of course, Mr. Pim?

DINAH. Oh, do!

PIM. It's very kind of you, Mrs. Marden, but--

DINAH. Oh, you simply must, Mr. Pim. You haven't told us half enough

about yourself yet. I want to hear all about your early life.

OLIVIA. Dinah!

PIM. Oh, we are almost, I might say, old friends, Mrs. Marden.

DINAH. Of course we are. He knows Brian, too. There's more in Mr. Pim

than you think. You _will_ stay to lunch, won't you?

PIM. It's very kind of you to ask me, Mrs. Marden, but I am lunching

with the Trevors.

OLIVIA. Oh, well, you must come to lunch another day.

DINAH. The reason why we like Mr. Pim so much is that he was the first

person to congratulate us. We feel that he is going to have a great

influence on our lives.

PIM (to OLIVIA). I, so to speak, stumbled on the engagement this

morning and--er--

OLIVIA. I see. Children, you must go and tidy yourselves up. Run

along.

BRIAN. Sir Brian and Lady Strange never run; they walk. (Offering his

arm) Madam!

DINAH (taking it). Au revoir, Mr. Pim. (Dramatically)

We--shall--meet--_again_!

PIM (chuckling). Good morning, Miss Dinah.

BRIAN. Good morning.

[He and DINAH go out.

OLIVIA. You must forgive them, Mr. Pim. They're such children. And

naturally they're rather excited just now.

PIM. Oh, not at all, Mrs. Marden.

OLIVIA. Of course you won't say anything about their engagement. We

only heard about it five minutes ago, and nothing has been settled

yet.

PIM. Of course, of course!

[Enter GEORGE.

GEORGE. Ah, Mr. Pim, we meet at last. Sorry to have kept you waiting

before.

PIM. The apology should come from me, Mr. Marden for having--er--

GEORGE. Not at all. Very glad to meet you now. Any friend of Brymer's.

You want a letter to this man Fanshawe?

OLIVIA. Shall I be in your way at all?

PIM. Oh, no, no, please don't.

GEORGE. It's only just a question of a letter. (Going to his desk)

Fanshawe will put you in the way of seeing all that you want to see.

He's a very old friend of mine. (Taking a sheet of notepaper) You'll

stay to lunch, of course?

PIM. I'm afraid I am lunching with the Trevors--

GEORGE. Oh, well, they'll look after you all right. Good chap, Trevor.

PIM (to OLIVIA). You see, Mrs. Marden, I have only recently arrived

from Australia after travelling about the world for some years, and

I'm rather out of touch with my--er--fellow-workers in London.

OLIVIA. Oh yes. You've been in Australia, Mr. Pim?

GEORGE (disliking Australia). I shan't be a moment, Mr. Pim. (He

frowns at OLIVIA.)

PIM. Oh, that's all right, thank you. (to OLIVIA) Oh yes, I have been

in Australia more than once in the last few years.

OLIVIA. Really? I used to live at Sydney many years ago. Do you know

Sydney at all?

GEORGE (detesting Sydney). H'r'm! Perhaps I'd better mention that you

are a friend of the Trevors?

PIM. Thank you, thank you. (to OLIVIA) Indeed yes, I spent several

months in Sydney.

OLIVIA. How curious. I wonder if we have any friends in common there.

GEORGE (hastily). Extremely unlikely, I should think. Sydney is a very

big place.

PIM. True, but the world is a very small place, Mr. Marden. I had a

remarkable instance of that, coming over on the boat this last time.

GEORGE. Ah! (Feeling that the conversation is now safe, he resumes his

letter.)

PIM. Yes. There was a man I used to employ in Sydney some years ago, a

bad fellow, I'm afraid, Mrs. Marden, who had been in prison for some

kind of fraudulent company-promoting and had taken to drink and--and

so on.

OLIVIA. Yes, yes, I understand.

PIM. Drinking himself to death I should have said. I gave him at the

most another year to live. Yet to my amazement the first person I saw

as I stepped on board the boat that brought me to England last week

was this fellow. There was no mistaking him. I spoke to him, in fact;

we recognised each other.

OLIVIA. Really?

PIM. He was travelling steerage; we didn't meet again on board, and as

it happened at Marseilles, this poor fellow--er--now what _was_ his

name? A very unusual one. Began with a--a T, I think.

OLIVIA (with suppressed feeling). Yes, Mr. Pim, yes? (She puts out a

hand to GEORGE.)

GEORGE (in an undertone). Nonsense, dear!

PIM (triumphantly). I've got it! Telworthy!

OLIVIA. Telworthy!

GEORGE. Good God!

PIM (a little surprised at the success of his story). An unusual name,

is it not? Not a name you could forget when once you had heard it.

OLIVIA (with feeling). No, it is not a name you could forget when once

you had heard it.

GEORGE (hastily coming over to PIM). Quite so, Mr. Pim, a most

remarkable name, a most odd story altogether. Well, well, here's your

letter, and if you're sure you won't stay to lunch--

PIM. I'm afraid not, thank you. You see, I--

GEORGE. The Trevors, yes. I'll just see you on your way--(to OLIVIA)

Er--my dear--

OLIVIA (holding out her hand, but not looking at him). Good-bye, Mr.

Pim.

PIM. Good-bye, good-bye!

GEORGE (leading the way through the windows). This way, this way.

Quicker for you.

PIM. Thank you, thank you.

[GEORGE hurries MR. PIM out.

(OLIVIA sits there and looks into the past. Now and then she

shudders.)

[GEORGE comes back.

GEORGE. Good God! Telworthy! Is it possible? (Before OLIVIA can

answer, LADY MARDEN is announced. They pull themselves together and

greet her.)

ACT II

(Lunch is over and coffee has been served on the terrace. Conversation

drags on, to the satisfaction of LADY MARDEN, but of nobody else.

GEORGE and OLIVIA want to be alone; so do BRIAN and DINAH. At last

BRIAN murmurs something about a cigarette-case; and, catching DINAH'S

eye, comes into the house. He leans against the sofa and waits for

DINAH.)

DINAH (loudly as she comes in). Have you found it?

BRIAN. Found what?

DINAH (in her ordinary voice). That was just for _their_ benefit. I

said I'd help you find it. It _is_ your cigarette-case we're looking

for, isn't it?

BRIAN (taking it out). Yes. Have one?

DINAH. No, thank you, darling. Aunt Juli-ah still thinks it's

unladylike. . . . Have you ever seen her beagling?

BRIAN. No. Is that very ladylike?

DINAH. Very. . . . I say, what has happened, do you think?

BRIAN. Everything. I love you, and you love me.

DINAH. Silly! I meant between George and Olivia. Didn't you notice

them at lunch?

BRIAN. I noticed that you seemed to be doing most of the talking. But

then I've noticed that before sometimes. Do you think Olivia and your

uncle have quarrelled because of _us_?

DINAH. Of course not. George may _think_ he has quarrelled, but I'm

quite sure Olivia hasn't. No, I believe Mr. Pim's at the bottom of it.

He's brought some terribly sad news about George's investments. The

old home will have to be sold up.

BRIAN. Good. Then your uncle won't mind your marrying me.

DINAH. Yes, darling, but you must be more dramatic about it than that.

"George," you must say, with tears in your eyes, "I cannot pay off the

whole of the mortgage for you. I have only two and ninepence; but at

least let me take your niece off your hands." Then George will thump

you on the back and say gruffly, "You're a good fellow, Brian, a damn

good fellow," and he'll blow his nose very loudly, and say, "Confound

this cigar, it won't draw properly." (She gives us a rough impression

of GEORGE doing it.)

BRIAN. Dinah, you're a heavenly idiot. And you've simply got to marry

me, uncles or no uncles.

DINAH. It will have to be "uncles," I'm afraid, because, you see, I'm

his ward, and I can get sent to Chancery or Coventry or somewhere

beastly, if I marry without his consent. Haven't _you_ got anybody who

objects to your marrying _me_?

BRIAN. Nobody, thank Heaven.

DINAH. Well, that's rather disappointing of you. I saw myself

fascinating your aged father at the same time that you were

fascinating George. I should have done it much better than you. As a

George-fascinator you aren't very successful, sweetheart.

BRIAN. What am I like as a Dinah-fascinator?

DINAH. Plus six, darling.

BRIAN. Then I'll stick to that and leave George to Olivia.

DINAH. I expect she'll manage him all right. I have great faith in

Olivia. But you'll marry me, anyhow, won't you, Brian?

BRIAN. I will.

DINAH. Even if we have to wait till I'm twenty-one?

BRIAN. Even if we have to wait till you're fifty-one.

DINAH (holding out her hands to him). Darling!

BRIAN (uneasily). I say, don't do that.

DINAH. Why not?

BRIAN. Well, I promised I wouldn't kiss you.

DINAH. Oh! . . . Well, you might just _send_ me a kiss. You can look the

other way as if you didn't know I was here.

BRIAN. Like this?

(He looks the other way, kisses the tips of his fingers, and flicks it

carelessly in her direction.)

DINAH. That was a lovely one. Now here's one coming for you.

(He catches it gracefully and conveys it to his mouth.)

BRIAN (with a low bow). Madam, I thank you.

DINAH (curtseying). Your servant, Mr. Strange.

OLIVIA (from outside). Dinah!

DINAH (jumping up). Hullo!

(OLIVIA comes in through the windows, followed by GEORGE and LADY

MARDEN, the latter a vigorous young woman of sixty odd, who always

looks as if she were beagling.)

OLIVIA. Aunt Julia wants to see the pigs, dear. I wish you'd take her

down. I'm rather tired, and your uncle has some business to attend to.

LADY MARDEN. I've always said that you don't take enough exercise,

Olivia. Look at me--sixty-five and proud of it.

OLIVIA. Yes, Aunt Julia, you're wonderful.

DINAH. How old would Olivia be if she took exercise?

GEORGE. Don't stand about asking silly questions, Dinah. Your aunt

hasn't much time.

BRIAN. May I come, too, Lady Marden?

LADY MARDEN. Well, a little exercise wouldn't do _you_ any harm, Mr.

Strange. You're an artist, ain't you?

BRIAN. Well, I try to paint.

DINAH. He sold a picture last March for--

GEORGE. Yes, yes, never mind that now.

LADY MARDEN. Unhealthy life. Well, come along.

[She strides out, followed by DINAH and BRIAN.

(GEORGE sits down at his desk with his head in his hand, and stabs the

blotting-paper with a pen. OLIVIA takes the curtains with her to the

sofa and begins to work on them.)

GEORGE (looking up and seeing them). Really, Olivia, we've got

something more important, more vital to us than curtains, to discuss,

now that we _are_ alone at last.

OLIVIA. I wasn't going to discuss them, dear.

GEORGE. I'm always glad to see Aunt Julia in my house, but I wish she

hadn't chosen this day of all days to come to lunch.

OLIVIA. It wasn't Aunt Julia's fault. It was really Mr. Pim who chose

the wrong day.

GEORGE (fiercely). Good Heavens, is it true?

OLIVIA. About Jacob Telworthy?

GEORGE. You told me he was dead. You always said that he was dead.

You--you--

OLIVIA. Well, I always thought that he was dead. He was as dead as

anybody could be. All the papers said he was dead.

GEORGE (scornfully). The papers!

OLIVIA (as if this would settle it for GEORGE). The _Times_ said he

was dead. There was a paragraph about him. Apparently even his death

was fraudulent.

GEORGE. Yes, yes, I'm not blaming you, Olivia, but what are we going

to do, that's the question, what are we going to do? My God, it's

horrible! You've never been married to me at all! You don't seem to

understand.

OLIVIA. It is a little difficult to realise. You see, it doesn't seem

to have made any difference to our happiness.

GEORGE. No, that's what's so terrible. I mean--well, of course, we

were quite innocent in the matter. But, at the same time, nothing can

get over the fact that we--we had no right to--to be happy.

OLIVIA. Would you rather we had been miserable?

GEORGE. You're Telworthy's wife, that's what you don't seem to

understand. You're Telworthy's wife. You--er--forgive me, Olivia, but

it's the horrible truth--you committed bigamy when you married me. (In

horror) Bigamy!

OLIVIA. It is an ugly word, isn't it?

GEORGE. Yes, but don't you understand--(He jumps up and comes over to

her) Look here, Olivia, old girl, the whole thing is nonsense, eh? It

isn't your husband, it's some other Telworthy that this fellow met.

That's right, isn't it? Some other shady swindler who turned up on the

boat, eh? This sort of thing doesn't happen to people like

_us_--committing bigamy and all that. Some other fellow.

OLIVIA (shaking her head). I knew all the shady swindlers in Sydney,

George. . . . They came to dinner. . . . There were no others called

Telworthy.

(GEORGE goes back despondently to his seat.)

GEORGE. Well, what are we going to do?

OLIVIA. You sent Mr. Pim away so quickly. He might have told us

things. Telworthy's plans. Where he is now. You hurried him away so

quickly.

GEORGE. I've sent a note round to ask him to come back. My one idea at

the moment was to get him out of the house--to hush things up.

OLIVIA. You can't hush up two husbands.

GEORGE (in despair). You can't. Everybody will know. Everybody!

OLIVIA. The children, Aunt Julia, they may as well know now as later.

Mr. Pim must, of course.

GEORGE. I do not propose to discuss my private affairs with Mr.

Pim----

OLIVIA. But he's mixed himself up in them rather, hasn't he, and if

you're going to ask him questions----

GEORGE. I only propose to ask him one question. I shall ask him if he

is absolutely certain of the man's name. I can do that quite easily

without letting him know the reason for my inquiry.

OLIVIA. You couldn't make a mistake about a name like Telworthy. But

he might tell us something about Telworthy's plans. Perhaps he's going

back to Australia at once. Perhaps he thinks I'm dead, too. Perhaps--

oh, there are so many things I want to know.

GEORGE. Yes, yes, dear. It would be interesting to--that is, one

naturally wants to know these things, but of course it doesn't make

any real difference.

OLIVIA (surprised). No difference?

GEORGE. Well, that is to say, you're as much his wife if he's in

Australia as you are if he's in England.

OLIVIA. I am not his wife at all.

GEORGE. But, Olivia, surely you understand the position----

OLIVIA (shaking her head). Jacob Telworthy may be alive, but I am not

his wife. I ceased to be his wife when I became yours.

GEORGE. You never _were_ my wife. That is the terrible part of it. Our

union--you make me say it, Olivia--has been unhallowed by the Church.

Unhallowed even by the Law. Legally, we have been living in--living

in--well, the point is, how does the Law stand? I imagine that

Telworthy could get a--a divorce. . . . Oh, it seems impossible that

things like this can be happening to _us_.

OLIVIA (Joyfully). A divorce?

GEORGE. I--I imagine so.

OLIVIA. But then we could _really_ get married, and we shouldn't be

living in--living in--whatever we were living in before.

GEORGE. I can't understand you, Olivia. You talk about it so calmly,

as if there was nothing blameworthy in being divorced, as if there was

nothing unusual in my marrying a divorced woman, as if there was

nothing wrong in our having lived together for years without having

been married.

OLIVIA. What seems wrong to me is that I lived for five years with a

bad man whom I hated. What seems right to me is that I lived for five

years with a good man whom I love.

GEORGE. Yes, yes, my dear, I know. But right and wrong don't settle

themselves as easily as that. We've been living together when you were

Telworthy's wife. That's _wrong_.

OLIVIA. Do you mean wicked?

GEORGE. Well, no doubt the Court would consider that we acted in

perfect innocence--

OLIVIA. What Court?

GEORGE. These things have to be done legally, of course. I believe the

proper method is a nullity suit, declaring our marriage null

and--er--void. It would, so to speak, wipe out these years of--er--

OLIVIA. Wickedness?

GEORGE. Of irregular union, and--er--then--

OLIVIA. Then I could go back to Jacob. . . . Do you really mean that,

George?

GEORGE (uneasily). Well, dear, you see--that's how things are--one

can't get away from--er----

OLIVIA. What you feel is that Telworthy has the greater claim? You are

prepared to--make way for him?

GEORGE. Both the Church and the Law would say that I had no claim at

all, I'm afraid. I--I suppose I haven't.

OLIVIA. I see. (She looks at him curiously) Thank you for making it so

clear, George.

GEORGE. Of course, whether or not you go back to--er--Telworthy is

another matter altogether. That would naturally be for you to decide.

OLIVIA (cheerfully). For me and Jacko to decide.

GEORGE. Er--Jacko?

OLIVIA. I used to call my first husband--I mean my only

husband--Jacko. I didn't like the name of Jacob, and Jacko seemed to

suit him somehow. . . . He had very long arms. Dear Jacko.

GEORGE (annoyed). You don't seem to realise that this is not a joke,

Olivia.

OLIVIA (a trifle hysterically). It may not be a joke, but it _is_

funny, isn't it?

GEORGE. I must say I don't see anything funny in a tragedy that has

wrecked two lives.

OLIVIA. Two? Oh, but Jacko's life isn't wrecked. It has just been

miraculously restored to him. And a wife, too. There's nothing tragic

for Jacko in it.

GEORGE (stiffly). I was referring to _our_ two lives--yours and mine.

OLIVIA. Yours, George? Your life isn't wrecked. The Court will absolve

you of all blame; your friends will sympathise with you, and tell you

that I was a designing woman who deliberately took you in; your Aunt

Julia----

GEORGE (overwrought). Stop it! What do you mean? Have you no heart? Do

you think I _want_ to lose you, Olivia? Do you think I _want_ my home

broken up like this? Haven't you been happy with me these last five

years?

OLIVIA. Very happy.

GEORGE. Well then, how can you talk like that?

OLIVIA (pathetically). But you want to send me away.

GEORGE. There you go again. I don't _want_ to. I have hardly had time

to realise just what it will mean to me when you go. The fact is I

simply daren't realise it. I daren't think about it.

OLIVIA (earnestly). Try thinking about it, George.

GEORGE. And you talk as if I _wanted_ to send you away!

OLIVIA. Try thinking about it, George.

GEORGE. You don't seem to understand that I'm not _sending_ you away.

You simply aren't mine to keep.

OLIVIA. Whose am I?

GEORGE. Your husband's. Telworthy's.

OLIVIA (gently). If I belong to anybody but myself, I think I belong

to you.

GEORGE. Not in the eyes of the Law. Not in the eyes of the Church. Not

even in the eyes of--er----

OLIVIA. The County?

GEORGE (annoyed). I was about to say "Heaven."

OLIVIA (unimpressed). Oh!

GEORGE. That this should happen to _us_! (He gets up and walks about

the room, wondering when he will wake up from this impossible dream,

OLIVIA works in silence. Then she stands up and shakes out her

curtains.)

OLIVIA (looking at them). I do hope Jacko will like these.

GEORGE. What! You---- (Going up to her) Olivia, Olivia, have you no

heart?

OLIVIA. Ought you to talk like that to another man's wife?

GEORGE. Confound it, is this just a joke to you?

OLIVIA. You must forgive me, George; I am a little over-excited--at

the thought of returning to Jacob, I suppose.

GEORGE. Do you _want_ to return to him?

OLIVIA. One wants to do what is right. In the eyes of--er--Heaven.

GEORGE. Seeing what sort of man he is, I have no doubt that you could

get a separation, supposing that he didn't--er--divorce you. I don't

know _what_ is best. I must consult my solicitor. The whole position

has been sprung on us, and--(miserably) I don't know, I don't know. I

can't take it all in.

OLIVIA. Wouldn't you like to consult your Aunt Julia too? She could

tell you what the County--I mean what Heaven really thought about it.

GEORGE. Yes, yes. Aunt Julia has plenty of common sense. You're quite

right, Olivia. This isn't a thing we can keep from the family.

OLIVIA. Do I still call her _Aunt_ Julia?

GEORGE (looking up from his pacings). What? What? (ANNE comes in.)

Well, what is it?

ANNE. Mr. Pim says he will come down at once, sir.

GEORGE. Oh, thank you, thank you.

[ANNE goes out.

OLIVIA. George, Mr. Pim has got to know.

GEORGE. I don't see the necessity.

OLIVIA. Not even for me? When a woman suddenly hears that her

long-lost husband is restored to her, don't you think she wants to ask

questions? Where is he living, and how is he looking, and----

GEORGE (coldly). Of course, if you are interested in these things--

OLIVIA. How can I help being? Don't be so silly, George. We _must_

know what Jacko--

GEORGE (annoyed). I wish you wouldn't call him by that ridiculous

name.

OLIVIA. My husband--

GEORGE (wincing). Yes, well--your husband?

OLIVIA. Well, we must know his plans--where we can communicate with

him, and so on.

GEORGE. I have no wish to communicate with him.

OLIVIA. I'm afraid you'll have to, dear.

GEORGE. I don't see the necessity.

OLIVIA. Well, you'll want to--to apologise to him for living with his

wife for so long. And as I belong to him, he ought to be told where he

can--call for me.

GEORGE (after a struggle). You put it in a very peculiar way, but I

see your-point. (With a shudder) Oh, the horrible publicity of it all!

OLIVIA (going up to him and comforting him). Poor George. Dear, don't

think I don't sympathise with you. I understand so exactly what you

are feeling. The publicity! It's terrible.

GEORGE (miserably). I want to do what's right, Olivia. You believe

that?

OLIVIA. Of course I do. It's only that we don't quite agree as to what

is right and what is wrong.

GEORGE. It isn't a question of agreeing. Right is right, and wrong is

wrong, all the world over.

OLIVIA (with a sad little smile). But more particularly in

Buckinghamshire, I think.

GEORGE. If I only considered myself, I should say: "Let us pack this

man Telworthy back to Australia. He would make no claim. He would

accept money to go away and say nothing about it." If I consulted

simply my own happiness, Olivia, that is what I should say. But when I

consult--er----

OLIVIA (surprised). Mine?

GEORGE. My conscience----

OLIVIA. Oh!

GEORGE. Then I can't do it. It's wrong. (He is at the window as he

says this.)

OLIVIA (making her first and last appeal). George, aren't I worth a

little----

GEORGE (turning round). H'sh! Dinah! (Loudly for DINAH'S benefit)

Well, then I'll write to him and--Ah, Dinah, where's Aunt Julia?

DINAH (coming in). We've seen the pigs, and now she's discussing the

Art of Landseer with Brian. I just came to ask----

OLIVIA. Dinah, dear, bring Aunt Julia here. And Brian too. We have

things we want to talk about with you all.

GEORGE (outraged). Olivia!

DINAH. Righto. What fun!

[Exit DINAH.

GEORGE. Olivia, you don't seriously suggest that we should discuss

these things with a child like Dinah and a young man like Strange, a

mere acquaintance.

OLIVIA. Dinah will have to know. I'm very fond of her, George. You

can't send me away without telling Dinah. And Brian is my friend. You

have your solicitor and your aunt and your conscience to

consult--mayn't I even have Brian?

GEORGE (forgetting). I should have thought that your _husband_----

OLIVIA. Yes, but we don't know where Jacko is.

GEORGE. I was not referring to--er--Telworthy.

OLIVIA. Well then?

GEORGE. Well, naturally I--you mustn't--Oh, this is horrible!

(He comes back to his desk as the others come in.)

OLIVIA (getting up). George and I have had some rather bad news, Aunt

Julia. We wanted your advice. Where will you sit?

LADY MARDEN. Thank you, Olivia. I can sit down by myself. (She does

so, near GEORGE. DINAH sits on the sofa with OLIVIA, and BRIAN half

leans against the back of it. There is a hush of expectation. . . .) What

is it? Money, I suppose. Nobody's safe nowadays.

GEORGE (signalling for help). Olivia--

OLIVIA. We've just heard that my first husband is still alive.

DINAH. Telworthy!

BRIAN. Good Lord!

LADY MARDEN. George!

DINAH (excitedly). And only this morning I was saying that nothing

ever happened in this house! (Remorsefully to OLIVIA) Darling, I don't

mean that. Darling one!

LADY MARDEN. What does this mean, George? I leave you for ten

minutes--barely ten minutes--to go and look at the pigs, and when I

come back you tell me that Olivia is a bigamist.

BRIAN (indignantly). I say--

OLIVIA (restraining him). H'sh!

BRIAN (to OLIVIA). If this is a row, I'm on your side.

LADY MARDEN. Well, George?

GEORGE. I'm afraid it's true, Aunt Julia. We heard the news just

before lunch--just before you came. We've only this moment had an

opportunity of talking about it, of wondering what to do.

LADY MARDEN. What was his name--Tel--something--

OLIVIA. Jacob Telworthy.

LADY MARDEN. So he's alive still?

GEORGE. Apparently. There seems to be no doubt about it.

LADY MARDEN (to OLIVIA). Didn't you _see_ him die? I should always

want to _see_ my husband die before I married again. Not that I

approve of second marriages, anyhow. I told you so at the time,

George.

OLIVIA. _And_ me, Aunt Julia.

LADY MARDEN. Did I? Well, I generally say what I think.

GEORGE. I ought to tell you, Aunt Julia, that no blame attaches to

Olivia over this. Of that I am perfectly satisfied. It's nobody's

fault, except----

LADY MARDEN. Except Telworthy's. _He_ seems to have been rather

careless. Well, what are you going to do about it?

GEORGE. That's just it. It's a terrible situation. There's bound to be

so much publicity. Not only all this, but--but Telworthy's past

and--and everything.

LADY MARDEN. I should have said that it was Telworthy's present which

was the trouble. Had he a past as well?

OLIVIA. He was a fraudulent company promoter. He went to prison a good

deal.

LADY MARDEN. George, you never told me this!

GEORGE. I--er----

OLIVIA. I don't see _why_ he should want to talk about it.

DINAH (indignantly). What's it got to do with Olivia, anyhow? It's not

_her_ fault.

LADY MARDEN (sarcastically). Oh no, I daresay it's mine.

OLIVIA (to GEORGE). YOU wanted to ask Aunt Julia what was the right

thing to do.

BRIAN (bursting out). Good Heavens, what _is_ there to do except the

one and only thing? (They all look at him and he becomes embarrassed)

I'm sorry. You don't want _me_ to--

OLIVIA. _I_ do, Brian.

LADY MARDEN. Well, go on, Mr. Strange. What would _you_ do in George's

position?

BRIAN. Do? Say to the woman I loved, "You're _mine_, and let this

other damned fellow come and take you from me if he can!" And he

couldn't--how could he?--not if the woman chose _me_.

(LADY MARDEN gazes at BRIAN in amazement, GEORGE in anger, OLIVIA

presses his hand gratefully. He has said what she has been

waiting--oh, so eagerly--for GEORGE to say.)

DINAH (adoringly). Oh, Brian! (In a whisper) It _is_ me, isn't it, and

not Olivia?

BRIAN. You baby, of course!

LADY MARDEN. I'm afraid, Mr. Strange, your morals are as peculiar as

your views on Art. If you had led a more healthy life--

BRIAN. This is not a question of morals or of art, it's a question of

love.

DINAH. Hear, hear!

LADY MARDEN (to GEORGE). Isn't it that girl's bedtime yet?

OLIVIA (to DINAH). We'll let her sit up a little longer if she's good.

DINAH. I will be good, Olivia, only I thought anybody, however

important a debate was, was allowed to say "Hear, hear!"

GEORGE (coldly) I really think we could discuss this better if Mr.

Strange took Dinah out for a walk. Strange, if you--er--

OLIVIA. Tell them what you have settled first, George.

LADY MARDEN. Settled? What is there to be settled? It settles itself.

GEORGE (sadly). That's just it.

LADY MARDEN. The marriage must be annulled--is that the word, George?

GEORGE. I presume so.

LADY MARDEN. One's solicitor will know all about that of course.

BRIAN. And when the marriage has been annulled, what then?

LADY MARDEN. Presumably Olivia will return to her husband.

BRIAN (bitterly). And _that's_ morality! As expounded by Bishop

Landseer!

GEORGE (angered). I don't know what you mean by Bishop Landseer.

Morality is acting in accordance with the Laws of the Land and the

Laws of the Church. I am quite prepared to believe that _your_ creed

embraces neither marriage nor monogamy, but my creed is different.

BRIAN (fiercely). My creed includes both marriage _and_ monogamy, and

monogamy means sticking to the woman you love, as long as she wants

you.

LADY MARDEN (calmly). You suggest that George and Olivia should go on

living together, although they have never been legally married, and

wait for this Telworthy man to divorce her, and then--bless the man,

what do you think the County would say?

BRIAN (scornfully). Does it matter?

DINAH. Well, if you really want to know, the men would say, "Gad,

she's a fine woman; I don't wonder he sticks to her," and the women

would say, "I can't _think_ what he sees in her to stick to her like

that," and they'd both say, "After all, he may be a damn fool, but you

can't deny he's a sportsman." That's what the County would say.

GEORGE (indignantly) Was it for this sort of thing, Olivia, that you

insisted on having Dinah and Mr. Strange in here? To insult me in my

own house?

LADY MARDEN. I can't think what young people are coming to nowadays.

OLIVIA. I think, dear, you and Brian had better go.

DINAH (getting up). We will go. But I'm just going to say one thing,

Uncle George. Brian and I _are_ going to marry each other, and when we

are married we'll stick to each other, _however_ many of our dead

husbands and wives turn up!

[She goes out indignantly, followed by BRIAN.

GEORGE. Upon my word, this is a pleasant discussion.

OLIVIA. I think the discussion is over, George. It is only a question

of where I shall go, while you are bringing your--what sort of suit

did you call it?

LADY MARDEN (to GEORGE). Nullity suit. I suppose that _is_ the best

thing?

GEORGE. It's horrible. The awful publicity. That it should be

happening to _us_, that's what I can't get over.

LADY MARDEN. I don't remember anything of the sort in the Marden

Family before, ever.

GEORGE (absently). Lady Fanny.

LADY MARDEN (recollecting). Yes, of course; but that was two hundred

years ago. The standards were different then. Besides, it wasn't quite

the same, anyhow.

GEORGE (absently). No, it wasn't quite the same.

LADY MARDEN. No. We shall all feel it. Terribly.

GEORGE (his apology). If there were any other way! Olivia, what _can_

I do? It _is_ the only way, isn't it? All that that fellow said--of

course, it sounds very well--but as things are. . . . _Is_ there anything

in marriage, or isn't there? You believe that there is, don't you? You

aren't one of these Socialists. Well, then, _can_ we go on living

together when you're another man's wife? It isn't only what people

will say, but it _is_ wrong, isn't it? . . . And supposing he doesn't

divorce you, are we to go on living together, unmarried, for _ever_?

Olivia, you seem to think that I'm just thinking of the

publicity--what people will say. I'm not. I'm not. That comes in any

way. But I want to do what's right, what's best. I don't mean what's

best for _us_, what makes us happiest, I mean what's really best,

what's rightest. What anybody else would do in my place. _I_ don't

know. It's so unfair. You're not my wife at all, but I want to do

what's right. . . . Oh, Olivia, Olivia, you do understand, don't you?

(They have both forgotten LADY MARDEN. OLIVIA has never taken her eyes

off him as he makes his last attempt to convince himself.)

OLIVIA (almost tenderly). So very very well, George. Oh, I understand

just what you are feeling. And oh, I do so wish that you could--(with

a little sigh)--but then it wouldn't be George, not the George I

married--(with a rueful little laugh)--or didn't quite marry.

LADY MARDEN. I must say, I think you are both talking a little wildly.

OLIVIA (repeating it, oh, so tenderly). Or didn't--quite--marry. (She

looks at him with all her heart in her eyes. She is giving him his

last chance to say "Damn Telworthy; you're mine!" He struggles

desperately with himself. . . . Will he?--will he? . . . But we shall never

know, for at that moment ANNE comes in.)

ANNE. Mr. Pim is here, sir.

GEORGE (emerging from the struggle with an effort). Pim? Pim? Oh, ah,

yes, of course. Mr. Pim. (Looking up) Where have you put him?

OLIVIA. I want to see Mr. Pim, too, George.

LADY MARDEN. Who on earth is Mr. Pim?

OLIVIA. Show him in here, Anne.

ANNE. Yes, madam. [She goes out.

OLIVIA. It was Mr. Pim who told us about my husband. He came across

with him in the boat, and recognised him as the Telworthy he knew in

Australia.

LADY MARDEN. Oh! Shall I be in the way?

GEORGE. No, no. It doesn't matter, does it, Olivia?

OLIVIA. Please stay.

[ANNE enters followed by MR. PIM.

ANNE. Mr. Pim.

GEORGE (pulling himself together). Ah, Mr. Pim! Very good of you to

have come. The fact is--er--(It is too much for him; he looks

despairingly at OLIVIA.)

OLIVIA. We're so sorry to trouble you, Mr. Pim. By the way, do you

know Lady Marden? (MR. PIM and LADY MARDEN bow to each other.) Do come

and sit down, won't you? (She makes room for him on the sofa next to

her) The fact is, Mr. Pim, you gave us rather a surprise this morning,

and before we had time to realise what it all meant, you had gone.

MR. PIM. A surprise, Mrs. Marden? Dear me, not an unpleasant one, I

hope?

OLIVIA. Well, rather a--surprising one.

GEORGE. Olivia, allow me a moment. Mr. Pim, you mentioned a man called

Telworthy this morning. My wife used to--that is to say, I used

to--that is, there are reasons--

OLIVIA. I think we had better be perfectly frank, George.

LADY MARDEN. I am sixty-five years of age, Mr. Pim, and I can say that

I've never had a moment's uneasiness by telling the truth.

MR. PIM (after a desperate effort to keep up with the conversation).

Oh! . . . I--er--I'm afraid I am rather at sea. Have I--er--left anything

unsaid in presenting my credentials to you this morning? This

Telworthy whom you mention--I seem to remember the name--

OLIVIA. Mr. Pim, you told us this morning of a man whom you had met on

the boat, a man who had come down in the world, whom you had known in

Sydney. A man called Telworthy.

MR. PIM (relieved). Ah yes, yes, of course. I did say Telworthy,

didn't I? Most curious coincidence, Lady Marden. Poor man, poor man!

Let me see, it must have been ten years ago--

GEORGE. Just a moment, Mr. Pim. You're quite sure that his name was

Telworthy?

MR. PIM. Telworthy--Telworthy--didn't I say Telworthy? Yes, that was

it--Telworthy. Poor fellow!

OLIVIA. I'm going to be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Pim. I feel

quite sure that I can trust you. This man Telworthy whom you met is my

husband.

MR. PIM. Your husband? (He looks in mild surprise at GEORGE.)

But--er--

OLIVIA. My first husband. His death was announced six years ago. I had

left him some years before that, but there seems no doubt from your

story that he's still alive. His record--the country he comes

from--above all, the very unusual name--Telworthy.

MR. PIM. Telworthy--yes--certainly a most peculiar name. I remember

saying so. Your first husband? Dear me! Dear me!

GEORGE. You understand, Mr. Pim, that all this is in absolute

confidence.

MR. PIM. Of course, of course.

OLIVIA. Well, since he is my husband, we naturally want to know

something about him. Where is he now, for instance?

MR. PIM (surprised). Where is he now? But surely I told you? I told

you what happened at Marseilles?

GEORGE. At Marseilles?

MR. PIM. Yes, yes, poor fellow, it was most unfortunate. (Quite happy

again) You must understand, Lady Marden, that although I had met the

poor fellow before in Australia, I was never in any way intimate--

GEORGE (thumping the desk). Where is he _now_, that's what we want to

know?

(MR. PIM turns to him with a start.)

OLIVIA. Please, Mr. Pim!

PIM. Where is he now? But--but didn't I tell you of the curious

fatality at Marseilles--poor fellow--the fish-bone?

ALL. Fish-bone?

MR. PIM. Yes, yes, a herring, I understand.

OLIVIA (understanding first). Do you mean he's dead?

MR. PIM. Dead--of course--didn't I--?

OLIVIA (laughing hysterically). Oh, Mr. Pim, you--oh, what a husband

to have--oh, I--(But that is all she can say for the moment.)

LADY MARDEN. Pull yourself together, Olivia. This is so unhealthy for

you. (to PIM) So he really _is_ dead this time?

MR. PIM. Oh, undoubtedly, undoubtedly. A fishbone lodged in his

throat.

GEORGE (trying to realise it). Dead!

OLIVIA (struggling with her laughter). I think you must excuse me, Mr.

Pim--I can never thank you enough--a herring--there's something about

a herring--morality depends on such little things--George,

you--(Shaking her head at him in a weak state of laughter, she hurries

out of the room.)

MR. PIM. Dear me! Dear me!

GEORGE. Now, let us have this quite clear, Mr. Pim. You say that the

man, Telworthy, Jacob Telworthy, is dead?

MR. PIM. Telworthy, yes--didn't I say Telworthy? This man I was

telling you about--

GEORGE. He's dead?

MR. PIM. Yes, yes, he died at Marseilles.

LADY MARDEN. A dispensation of Providence, George. One can look at it

in no other light.

GEORGE. Dead! (Suddenly annoyed) Really, Mr. Pim, I think you might

have told us before.

MR. PIM. But I--I _was_ telling you--I--

GEORGE. If you had only told us the whole story at once, instead of in

two--two instalments like this, you would have saved us all a good

deal of anxiety.

MR. PIM. Really, I--

LADY MARDEN. I am sure Mr. Pim meant well, George, but it seems a pity

he couldn't have said so before. If the man was dead, _why_ try to

hush it up?

MR. PIM (lost again). Really, Lady Marden, I--

GEORGE (getting up). Well, well, at any rate, I am much obliged to

you, Mr. Pim, for having come down to us this afternoon. Dead! _De

mortuis_, and so forth, but the situation would have been impossible

had he lived. Good-bye! (Holding out his hand) Good-bye!

LADY MARDEN. Good-bye, Mr. Pim.

MR. PIM. Good-bye, good-bye! (GEORGE takes him to the door.) Of

course, if I had--(to himself) Telworthy--I _think_ that was the name.

(He goes out, still wondering.)

GEORGE (with a sigh of thankfulness). Well! This is wonderful news,

Aunt Julia.

LADY MARDEN. Most providential! . . . You understand, of course, that you

are not married to Olivia?

GEORGE (who didn't). Not married?

LADY MARDEN. If her first husband only died at Marseilles a few days

ago--

GEORGE. Good Heavens!

LADY MARDEN. Not that it matters. You can get married quietly again.

Nobody need know.

GEORGE (considering it). Yes . . . yes. Then all these years we have

been--er--Yes.

LADY MARDEN. Who's going to know?

GEORGE. Yes, yes, that's true. . . . And in perfect innocence, too.

LADY MARDEN. I should suggest a Registry Office in London.

GEORGE. A Registry Office, yes.

LADY MARDEN. Better go up to town this afternoon. Can't do it too

quickly.

GEORGE. Yes, yes. We can stay at an hotel--

LADY MARDEN (surprised). George!

GEORGE. What?

LADY MARDEN. _You_ will stay at your club.

GEORGE. Oh--ah--yes, of course, Aunt Julia.

LADY MARDEN. Better take your solicitor with you to be on the safe

side. . . . To the Registry Office, I mean.

GEORGE. Yes.

LADY MARDEN (getting up). Well, I must be getting along, George. Say

good-bye to Olivia for me. And those children. Of course, you won't

allow this absurd love-business between them to come to anything?

GEORGE. Most certainly not. Good-bye, Aunt Julia!

LADY MARDEN (indicating the windows). I'll go _this_ way. (As she

goes) And get Olivia out more, George. I don't like these hysterics.

You want to be firm with her.

GEORGE (firmly) Yes, yes! Good-bye!

(He waves to her and then goes back to his seat.)

(OLIVIA comes in, and stands in the middle of the room looking at him.

He comes to her eagerly.)

GEORGE (holding out his hands). Olivia! Olivia! (But it is not so easy

as that.)

OLIVIA (drawing herself up proudly). Mrs. Telworthy!

ACT III

(OLIVIA is standing where we left her at the end of the last act.)

GEORGE (taken aback). Olivia, I--I don't understand.

OLIVIA (leaving melodrama with a little laugh and coming down to

him). Poor George! Did I frighten you rather?

GEORGE. You're so strange to-day. I don't understand you. You're not

like the Olivia I know.

(They sit down on the sofa together.)

OLIVIA. Perhaps you don't know me very well after all.

GEORGE (affectionately). Oh, that's nonsense, old girl. You're just my

Olivia.

OLIVIA. And yet it seemed as though I wasn't going to be your Olivia

half an hour ago.

GEORGE (with a shudder). Don't talk about it. It doesn't bear thinking

about. Well, thank Heaven that's over. Now we can get married again

quietly and nobody will be any the wiser.

OLIVIA. Married again?

GEORGE. Yes, dear. As you--er--(he laughs uneasily) said just now, you

are Mrs. Telworthy. Just for the moment. But we can soon put that

right. My idea was to go up this evening and--er--make arrangements,

and if you come up to-morrow morning, if we can manage it by then, we

could get quietly married at a Registry Office, and--er--nobody any

the wiser.

OLIVIA. Yes, I see. You want me to marry you at a Registry Office

to-morrow?

GEORGE. If we can arrange it by then. I don't know how long these

things take, but I should imagine there would be no difficulty.

OLIVIA. Oh no, that part ought to be quite easy. But--(She hesitates.)

GEORGE. But what?

OLIVIA. Well, if you want to marry me to-morrow, George, oughtn't you

to propose to me first?

GEORGE (amazed). Propose?

OLIVIA. Yes. It is usual, isn't it, to propose to a person before you

marry her, and--and we want to do the usual thing, don't we?

GEORGE (upset). But you--but we . . .

OLIVIA. You see, dear, you're George Marden, and I'm Olivia Telworthy,

and you--you're attracted by me, and think I would make you a good

wife, and you want to marry me. Well, naturally you propose to me

first, and--tell me how much you are attracted by me, and what a good

wife you think I shall make, and how badly you want to marry me.

GEORGE (falling into the humour of it, as he thinks). The baby! Did

she want to be proposed to all over again?

OLIVIA. Well, she did rather.

GEORGE (rather fancying himself as an actor). She shall then. (He

adopts what he considers to be an appropriate attitude) Mrs.

Telworthy, I have long admired you in silence, and the time has now

come to put my admiration into words. Er--(But apparently he finds a

difficulty.)

OLIVIA (hopefully). Into words.

GEORGE. Er--

OLIVIA (with the idea of helping). Oh, Mr. Marden!

GEORGE. Er--may I call you Olivia?

OLIVIA. Yes, George.

GEORGE (taking her hand). Olivia--I--(He hesitates.)

OLIVIA. I don't want to interrupt, but oughtn't you to be on your

knees? It is--usual, I believe. If one of the servants came in, you

could say you were looking for my scissors.

GEORGE. Really, Olivia, you must allow me to manage my own proposal in

my own way.

OLIVIA (meekly). I'm sorry. Do go on.

GEORGE. Well, er--confound it, Olivia, I love you. Will you marry me?

OLIVIA. Thank you, George, I will think it over.

GEORGE (laughing). Silly girl! Well then, to-morrow morning. No

wedding-cake, I'm afraid, Olivia. (He laughs again) But we'll go and

have a good lunch somewhere.

OLIVIA. I will think it over, George.

GEORGE (good-humouredly). Well, give us a kiss while you're thinking.

OLIVIA. I'm afraid you mustn't kiss me until we are actually engaged.

GEORGE (laughing uneasily). Oh, we needn't take it as seriously as all

that.

OLIVIA. But a woman must take a proposal seriously.

GEORGE (alarmed at last). What do you mean?

OLIVIA. I mean that the whole question, as I heard somebody say once,

demands much more anxious thought than either of us has given it.

These hasty marriages--

GEORGE. Hasty!

OLIVIA. Well, you've only just proposed to me, and you want to marry

me to-morrow.

GEORGE. Now you're talking perfect nonsense, Olivia. You know quite

well that our case is utterly different from--from any other.

OLIVIA. All the same, one has to ask oneself questions. With a young

girl like--well, with a young girl, love may well seem to be all that

matters. But with a woman of my age, it is different. I have to ask

myself if you can afford to support a wife.

GEORGE (coldly). Fortunately that is a question that you can very

easily answer for yourself.

OLIVIA. Well, but I have been hearing rather bad reports lately. What

with taxes always going up, and rents always going down, some of our

landowners are getting into rather straitened circumstances. At least,

so I'm told.

GEORGE. I don't know what you're talking about.

OLIVIA (surprised). Oh, isn't it true? I heard of a case only this

morning--a landowner who always seemed to be very comfortably off, but

who couldn't afford an allowance for his only niece when she wanted to

get married. It made me think that one oughtn't to judge by

appearances.

GEORGE. You know perfectly well that I can afford to support a wife as

my wife _should_ be supported.

OLIVIA. I'm so glad, dear. Then your income--you aren't getting

anxious at all?

GEORGE (stiffly). You know perfectly well what my income is. I see no

reason for anxiety in the future.

OLIVIA. Ah, well, then we needn't think about that any more. Well,

then, there is another thing to be considered.

GEORGE. I can't make out what you're up to. Don't you want to get

married; to--er--legalise this extraordinary situation in which we are

placed?

OLIVIA. I want to be sure that I am going to be happy, George. I can't

just jump at the very first offer I have had since my husband died,

without considering the whole question very carefully.

GEORGE. So I'm under consideration, eh?

OLIVIA. Every suitor is.

GEORGE (sarcastically, as he thinks). Well, go on.

OLIVIA. Well, then, there's your niece. You have a niece who lives

with you. Of course Dinah is a delightful girl, but one doesn't like

marrying into a household in which there is another grown-up woman.

But perhaps she will be getting married herself soon?

GEORGE. I see no prospect of it.

OLIVIA. I think it would make it much easier if she did.

GEORGE. Is this a threat, Olivia? Are you telling me that if I do not

allow young Strange to marry Dinah, you will not marry me?

OLIVIA. A threat? Oh no, George.

GEORGE. Then what does it mean?

OLIVIA. I'm just wondering if you love me as much as Brian loves

Dinah. You _do_ love me?

GEORGE (from his heart). You know I do, old girl. (He comes to her.)

OLIVIA. You're not just attracted by my pretty face? . . . _Is_ it a

pretty face?

GEORGE. It's an adorable one. (He tries to kiss it, but she turns

away.)

OLIVIA. How can I be sure that it is not _only_ my face which makes

you think that you care for me? Love which rests upon a mere outward

attraction cannot lead to any lasting happiness--as one of our

thinkers has observed.

GEORGE. What's come over you, Olivia? I don't understand what you're

driving at. Why should you doubt my love?

OLIVIA. Ah!--Why?

GEORGE. You can't pretend that we haven't been happy together.

I've--I've been a good pal to you, eh? We--we suit each other, old

girl.

OLIVIA. Do we?

GEORGE. Of course we do.

OLIVIA. I wonder. When two people of our age think of getting married,

one wants to be very sure that there is real community of ideas

between them. Whether it is a comparatively trivial matter, like the

right colour for a curtain, or some very much more serious question of

conduct which arises, one wants to feel that there is some chance of

agreement between husband and wife.

GEORGE. We--we love each other, old girl.

OLIVIA. We do now, yes. But what shall we be like in five years' time?

Supposing that after we have been married five years, we found

ourselves estranged from each other upon such questions as Dinah's

future, or the decorations of the drawing-room, or even the advice to

give to a friend who had innocently contracted a bigamous marriage?

How bitterly we should regret then our hasty plunge into a matrimony

which was no true partnership, whether of tastes, or of ideas, or even

of consciences! (With a sigh) Ah me!

GEORGE (nastily). Unfortunately for your argument, Olivia, I can

answer you out of your own mouth. You seem to have forgotten what you

said this morning in the case of--er--young Strange.

OLIVIA (reproachfully). Is it quite fair, George, to drag up what was

said this morning?

GEORGE. You've brought it on yourself.

OLIVIA. I? . . . Well, and what did I say this morning?

GEORGE. You said that it was quite enough that Strange was a gentleman

and in love with Dinah for me to let them marry each other.

OLIVIA. Oh! . . . _Is_ that enough, George?

GEORGE (triumphantly). You said so.

OLIVIA (meekly). Well, if you think so, too, I--I don't mind risking

it.

GEORGE (kindly). Aha, my dear! You see!

OLIVIA. Then you do think it's enough?

GEORGE. I--er--Yes, yes, I--I think so.

OLIVIA (going to him). My darling one! Then we can have a double

wedding. How jolly!

GEORGE (astounded). A double one!

OLIVIA. Yes. You and me, Brian and Dinah.

GEORGE (firmly). Now look here, Olivia, understand once and for all, I

am not to be blackmailed into giving my consent to Dinah's engagement.

Neither blackmailed nor tricked. Our marriage has nothing whatever to

do with Dinah's.

OLIVIA. No, dear. I quite understand. They may take place about the

same time, but they have nothing to do with each other.

GEORGE. I see no prospect of Dinah's marriage taking place for many

years.

OLIVIA. No, dear, that was what I said.

GEORGE (not understanding for the moment). You said. . . . ? I see. Now,

Olivia, let us have this perfectly clear. You apparently insist on

treating my--er--proposal as serious.

OLIVIA (surprised). Wasn't it serious? Were you trifling with me?

GEORGE. You know quite well what I mean. You treat it as an ordinary

proposal from a man to a woman who have never been more than

acquaintances before. Very well then. Will you tell me what you

propose to do, if you decide to--ah--refuse me? You do not suggest

that we should go on living together--unmarried?

OLIVIA (shocked). Of course not, George! What would the County--I mean

Heaven--I mean the Law--I mean, of _course_ not! Besides, it's so

unnecessary. If I decide to accept you, of _course_ I shall marry you.

GEORGE. Quite so. And if you--ah--decide to refuse me? What will you

do?

OLIVIA. Nothing.

GEORGE. Meaning by that?

OLIVIA. Just that, George. I shall stay here--just as before. I like

this house. It wants a little re-decorating perhaps, but I do like it,

George. . . . Yes, I shall be quite happy here.

GEORGE. I see. You will continue to live down here--in spite of what

you said just now about the immorality of it.

OLIVIA (surprised). But there's nothing immoral in a widow living

alone in a big country house, with perhaps the niece of a friend of

hers staying with her, just to keep her company.

GEORGE (sarcastic). And what shall _I_ be doing, when you've so very

kindly taken possession of my house for me?

OLIVIA. I don't know, George. Travelling, I expect. You could come

down sometimes with a chaperone. I suppose there would be nothing

wrong in that.

GEORGE (indignant). Thank you! And what if I refuse to be turned out

of my house?

OLIVIA. Then, seeing that we can't _both_ be in it, it looks as though

you'd have to turn _me_ out. (Casually) I suppose there are legal ways

of doing these things. You'd have to consult your solicitor again.

GEORGE (amazed). Legal ways?

OLIVIA. Well, you couldn't _throw_ me out, could you? You'd have to

get an injunction against me--or prosecute me for trespass--or

something. It would make an awfully unusual case, wouldn't it? The

papers would be full of it.

GEORGE. You must be mad!