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Mr. Pim Passes By: A Comedy In Three Acts, a play by A. A. Milne |
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_ ACT III (OLIVIA is standing where we left her at the end of the last act.)
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! OLIVIA (dreamily). Widow of well-known ex-convict takes possession of J.P.'s house. Popular country gentleman denied entrance to his own home. Doomed to travel. GEORGE (angrily). I've had enough of this. Do you mean all this nonsense? OLIVIA. I do mean, George, that I am in no hurry to go up to London and get married. I love the country just now, and (with a sigh) after this morning, I'm--rather tired of husbands. GEORGE (in a rage). I've never heard so much--damned nonsense in my life. I will leave you to come to your senses. (He goes out indignantly.) (OLIVIA, who has forgiven him already, throws a loving kiss after him, and then turns triumphantly to her dear curtains. She takes them, smiling, to the sofa, and has just got to work again, when MR. PIM appears at the open windows.) PIM (in a whisper). Er, may I come in, Mrs. Marden? OLIVIA (turning round in surprise). Mr. Pim! PIM (anxiously). Mr. Marden is--er--not here? OLIVIA (getting up). Do you want to see him? I will tell him. PIM. No, no, no! Not for the world! (He comes in and looks anxiously at the door) There is no immediate danger of his returning, Mrs. Marden? OLIVIA (surprised). No, I don't think so. What is it? You-- PIM. I took the liberty of returning by the window in the hope of--er--coming upon you alone, Mrs. Marden. OLIVIA. Yes? PIM (still rather nervous). I--er--Mr. Marden will be very angry with me. Quite rightly. I blame myself entirely. I do not know how I can have been so stupid. OLIVIA. What is it, Mr. Pim? Has my husband come to life again? PIM. Mrs. Marden, I throw myself on your mercy entirely. The fact is--his name was Polwittle. OLIVIA (at a loss). Whose? My husband's? PIM. Yes, yes. The name came back to me suddenly, just as I reached the gate. Polwittle, poor fellow. OLIVIA. But, Mr. Pim, my husband's name was Telworthy. PIM. No, no, Polwittle. OLIVIA. But, really I ought to. . . . PIM (firmly). Polwittle. It came back to me suddenly just as I reached the gate. For the moment, I had thoughts of conveying the news by letter. I was naturally disinclined to return in person, and--Polwittle. (Proudly) If you remember, I always said it was a curious name. OLIVIA. But who _is_ Polwittle? PIM (in surprise at her stupidity). The man I have been telling you about, who met with the sad fatality at Marseilles. Henry Polwittle--or was it Ernest? No, Henry, I think. Poor fellow. OLIVIA (indignantly). But you said his name was Telworthy! How _could_ you? PIM. Yes, yes, I blame myself entirely. OLIVIA. But how could you _think_ of a name like Telworthy, if it wasn't Telworthy? PIM (eagerly). Ah, that is the really interesting thing about the whole matter. OLIVIA. Mr. Pim, all your visits here to-day have been interesting. PIM. Yes, but you see, on my first appearance here this morning, I was received by--er--Miss Diana. OLIVIA. Dinah. PIM. Miss Dinah, yes. She was in--er--rather a communicative mood, and she happened to mention, by way of passing the time, that before your marriage to Mr. Marden you had been a Mrs.--er-- OLIVIA. Telworthy. PIM. Yes, yes, Telworthy, of course. She mentioned also Australia. By some process of the brain--which strikes me as decidedly curious--when I was trying to recollect the name of the poor fellow on the boat, whom you remember I had also met in Australia, the fact that this other name was also stored in my memory, a name equally peculiar--this fact I say . . . OLIVIA (seeing that the sentence is rapidly going to pieces). Yes, I understand. PIM. I blame myself, I blame myself entirely. OLIVIA. Oh, you mustn't do that, Mr. Pim. It was really Dinah's fault for inflicting all our family history on you. PIM. Oh, but a charming young woman. I assure you I was very much interested in all that she told me. (Getting up) Well, Mrs.--er--Marden, I can only hope that you will forgive me for the needless distress I have caused you to-day. OLIVIA. Oh, you mustn't worry about that--please. PIM. And you will tell your husband--you will break the news to him? OLIVIA (smiling to herself). I will--break the news to him. PIM. You understand how it is that I thought it better to come to you in the first place? OLIVIA. I am very glad you did. PIM (holding out his hand). Then I will say good-bye, and--er-- OLIVIA. Just a moment, Mr. Pim. Let us have it quite clear this time. You never knew my husband, Jacob Telworthy, you never met him in Australia, you never saw him on the boat, and nothing whatever happened to him at Marseilles. Is that right? PIM. Yes, yes, that is so. OLIVIA. So that, since he was supposed to have died in Australia six years ago, he is presumably still dead? PIM. Yes, yes, undoubtedly. OLIVIA (holding out her hand with a charming smile). Then good-bye, Mr. Pim, and thank you so much for--for all your trouble. PIM. Not at all, Mrs. Marden. I can only assure you I-- DINAH (from the window). Hullo, here's Mr. Pim! (She comes in, followed by BRIAN.) PIM (anxiously looking at the door in case MR. MARDEN should come in). Yes, yes, I--er-- DINAH. Oh, Mr. Pim, you mustn't run away without even saying how do you do! Such old friends as we are. Why, it is ages since I saw you! Are you staying to tea? PIM. I'm afraid I-- OLIVIA. Mr. Pim has to hurry away, Dinah. You mustn't keep him. DINAH. Well, but you'll come back again? PIM. I fear that I am only a passer-by, Miss--er--Dinah. OLIVIA. You can walk with him to the gate, dear. PIM (gratefully to OLIVIA). Thank you. (He edges towards the window) If you would be so kind, Miss Dinah-- BRIAN. I'll catch you up. DINAH. Come along then, Mr. Pim. (As they go out) I want to hear all about your _first_ wife. You haven't really told me anything yet. (OLIVIA resumes her work, and BRIAN sits on the back of the sofa looking at her.) BRIAN (awkwardly). I just wanted to say, if you don't think it cheek, that I'm--I'm on your side, if I may be, and if I can help you at all I should be very proud of being allowed to. OLIVIA (looking up at him). Brian, you dear. That's sweet of you . . . But it's quite all right now, you know. BRIAN. Oh, I'm so glad. OLIVIA. Yes, that's what Mr. Pim came back to say. He'd made a mistake about the name. (Smiling) George is the only husband I have. BRIAN (surprised). What? You mean that the whole thing--that Pim--(With conviction) Silly ass! OLIVIA (kindly). Oh, well, he didn't mean to be. (After a pause) Brian, do you know anything about the Law? BRIAN. I'm afraid not. I hate the Law. Why? OLIVIA (casually). Oh, I just--I was wondering--thinking about all the shocks we've been through to-day. Second marriages, and all that. BRIAN. Oh! It's a rotten business. OLIVIA. I suppose there's nothing wrong in getting married to the _same_ person twice? BRIAN. A hundred times if you like, I should think. OLIVIA. Oh? BRIAN. After all, in France, they always go through it twice, don't they? Once before the Mayor or somebody, and once in church. OLIVIA. Of course they do! How silly of me . . . I think it's rather a nice idea. They ought to do it in England more. BRIAN. Well, once will be enough for Dinah and me, if you can work it. (Anxiously) D'you think there's any chance, Olivia? OLIVIA (smiling). Every chance, dear. BRIAN (jumping up). I say, do you really? Have you squared him? I mean, has he-- OLIVIA. Go and catch them up now. We'll talk about it later on. BRIAN. Bless you. Righto. (As he goes out by the windows, GEORGE comes in at the door. GEORGE stands looking after him, and then turns to OLIVIA, who is absorbed in her curtains. He walks up and down the room, fidgeting with things, waiting for her to speak. As she says nothing, he begins to talk himself, but in an obviously unconcerned way. There is a pause after each answer of hers, before he gets out his next remark.) GEORGE (casually). Good-looking fellow, Strange. OLIVIA (equally casually). Brian--yes, isn't he? And such a nice boy . . . GEORGE. Got fifty pounds for a picture the other day, didn't he? Hey? OLIVIA. Yes. Of course he has only just begun. . . . GEORGE. Critics think well of him, what? OLIVIA. They all say he has genius. Oh, I don't think there's any doubt about it . . . GEORGE. Of course, I don't profess to know anything about painting. OLIVIA. You've never had time to take it up, dear. GEORGE. I know what I like, of course. Can't say I see much in this new-fangled stuff. If a man can paint, why can't he paint like--like Rubens or--or Reynolds? OLIVIA. I suppose we all have our own styles. Brian will find his directly. Of course, he's only just beginning. . . . GEORGE. But they think a lot of him, what? OLIVIA. Oh yes! GEORGE. H'm! . . . Good-looking fellow. (There is rather a longer silence this time, GEORGE continues to hope that he is appearing casual and unconcerned. He stands looking at OLIVIA'S work for a moment.) GEORGE. Nearly finished 'em? OLIVIA. Very nearly. Are my scissors there? GEORGE (looking round). Scissors? OLIVIA. Ah, here they are. . . . GEORGE. Where are you going to put 'em? OLIVIA (as if really wondering). I don't quite know. . . . I _had_ thought of this room, but--I'm not quite sure. GEORGE. Brighten the room up a bit. OLIVIA. Yes. . . . GEORGE (walking over to the present curtains). H'm. They _are_ a bit faded. OLIVIA (shaking out hers, and looking at them critically). Sometimes I think I love them, and sometimes I'm not quite sure. GEORGE. Best way is to hang 'em up and see how you like 'em then. Always take 'em down again. OLIVIA. That's rather a good idea, George! GEORGE. Best way. OLIVIA. Yes. . . . I think we might do that. . . . The only thing is--(she hesitates). GEORGE. What? OLIVIA. Well, the carpet and the chairs, and the cushions and things-- GEORGE. What about 'em? OLIVIA. Well, if we had new curtains-- GEORGE. You'd want a new carpet, eh? OLIVIA (doubtfully). Y--yes. Well, new chair-covers anyhow. GEORGE. H'm. . . . Well, why not? OLIVIA. Oh, but-- GEORGE (with an awkward laugh). We're not so hard up as all that, you know. OLIVIA. No, I suppose not. (Thoughtfully) I suppose it would mean that I should have to go up to London for them. That's rather a nuisance. GEORGE (extremely casual). Oh, I don't know. We might go up together one day. OLIVIA. Well, of course if we _were_ up--for anything else--we could just look about us, and see if we could find what we want. GEORGE. That's what I meant. (There is another silence. GEORGE is wondering whether to come to closer quarters with the great question.) OLIVIA. Oh, by the way, George-- GEORGE. Yes? OLIVIA (innocently). I told Brian, and I expect he'll tell Dinah, that Mr. Pim had made a mistake about the name. GEORGE (astonished). You told Brian that Mr. Pim-- OLIVIA. Yes--I told him that the whole thing was a mistake. It seemed the simplest way. GEORGE. Olivia! Then you mean that Brian and Dinah think that--that we have been married all the time? OLIVIA. Yes . . . They both think so now. GEORGE (coming close to her). Olivia, does that mean that you _are_ thinking of marrying me? OLIVIA. At your old Registry Office? GEORGE (eagerly). Yes! OLIVIA. To-morrow? GEORGE. Yes! OLIVIA. Do you want me to _very_ much? GEORGE. My darling, you know I do! OLIVIA (a little apprehensive). We should have to do it very quietly. GEORGE. Of course, darling. Nobody need know at all. We don't _want_ anybody to know. And now that you've put Brian and Dinah off the scent, by telling them that Mr. Pim made a mistake--(He breaks off, and says admiringly) That was very clever of you, Olivia. I should never have thought of that. OLIVIA (innocently). No, darling. . . . You don't think it was wrong, George? GEORGE (his verdict). An innocent deception . . . perfectly harmless. OLIVIA. Yes, dear, that was what I thought about--about what I was doing. GEORGE. Then you will come to-morrow? (She nods.) And if we happen to see the carpet, or anything that you want-- OLIVIA. Oh, what fun! GEORGE (beaming). And a wedding lunch at the Carlton, what? (She nods eagerly.) And--and a bit of a honeymoon in Paris? OLIVIA. Oh, George! GEORGE (hungrily). Give us a kiss, old girl. OLIVIA (lovingly). George! (She holds up her cheek to him. He kisses it, and then suddenly takes her in his arms.) GEORGE. Don't ever leave me, old girl. OLIVIA (affectionately). Don't ever send me away, old boy. GEORGE (fervently). I won't. . . . (Awkwardly) I--I don't think I would have, you know. I--I-- (DINAH and BRIAN appear at the windows, having seen MR. PIM safely off.) DINAH (surprised). Oo, I say! (GEORGE hastily moves away.) GEORGE. Hallo! DINAH (going up impetuously to him). Give _me_ one, too, George; Brian won't mind. BRIAN. Really, Dinah, you are the limit. GEORGE (formally, but enjoying it). Do you mind, Mr. Strange? BRIAN (a little uncomfortably). Oh, I say, sir-- GEORGE. We'll risk it, Dinah. (He kisses her.) DINAH (triumphantly to BRIAN). Did you notice that one? That wasn't just an ordinary affectionate kiss. It was a special bless--you--my--children one. (to GEORGE) Wasn't it? OLIVIA. You do talk nonsense, darling. DINAH. Well, I'm so happy, now that Mr. Pim has relented about your first husband-- (GEORGE catches OLIVIA'S eye and smiles; she smiles back; but they are different smiles.) GEORGE (the actor). Yes, yes, stupid fellow Pim, what? BRIAN. Absolute idiot. DINAH. --And now that George has relented about _my_ first husband. GEORGE. You get on much too quickly, young woman. (to BRIAN) So you want to marry my Dinah, eh? BRIAN (with a smile). Well, I do rather, sir. DINAH (hastily). Not at once, of course, George. We want to be engaged for a long time first, and write letters to each other, and tell each other how much we love each other, and sit next to each other when we go out to dinner. GEORGE (to OLIVIA). Well, _that_ sounds fairly harmless, I think. OLIVIA (smiling). I think so. . . . GEORGE (to BRIAN). Then you'd better have a talk with me--er--Brian. BRIAN. Thank you very much, sir. GEORGE. Well, come along then. (Looking at his watch) I am going up to town after tea, so we'd better-- DINAH. I say! Are you going to London? GEORGE (with the smile of the conspirator). A little business. Never you mind, young lady. DINAH (calmly). All right. Only, bring me back something nice. GEORGE (to BRIAN). Shall we walk down and look at the pigs? BRIAN. Righto! OLIVIA. Don't go far, dear. I may want you in a moment. GEORGE. All right, darling, we'll be on the terrace. [They go out together.] DINAH. Brian and George always try to discuss me in front of the pigs. So tactless of them. Are you going to London, too, darling? OLIVIA. To-morrow morning. DINAH. What are you going to do in London? OLIVIA. Oh, shopping, and--one or two little things. DINAH. With George? OLIVIA. Yes. . . . DINAH. I say, wasn't it lovely about Pim? OLIVIA. Lovely? DINAH. Yes; he told me all about it. Making such a hash of things, I mean. OLIVIA (innocently). Did he make a hash of things? DINAH. Well, I mean keeping on coming like that. And if you look at it all round--well, for all he had to say, he needn't really have come at all. OLIVIA (smiling to herself). I shouldn't quite say that, Dinah. (She stands up and shakes out the curtains.) DINAH. I say, aren't they jolly? OLIVIA (demurely). I'm so glad everybody likes them. Tell George I'm ready, will you? DINAH. I say, is _he_ going to hang them up for you? OLIVIA. Well, I thought he could reach best. DINAH. Righto! What fun! (At the windows) George! George! (to OLIVIA) Brian is just telling George about the five shillings he's got in the Post Office. . . . George! GEORGE (from the terrace). Coming! (He hurries in, the model husband, BRIAN follows.) OLIVIA. Oh, George, just hang these up for me, will you? GEORGE. Of course, darling. I'll get the steps from the library. [He hurries out.] (BRIAN takes out his sketching block. It is obvious that his five shillings has turned the scale. He bows to DINAH. He kisses OLIVIA'S hand with an air. He motions to DINAH to be seated.) DINAH (impressed). What is it? BRIAN (beginning to draw). Portrait of Lady Strange. (GEORGE hurries in with the steps, and gets to work. There is a great deal of curtain, and for the moment he becomes slightly involved in it. However, by draping it over his head and shoulders, he manages to get successfully up the steps. There we may leave him.) (But we have not quite finished with MR. PIM. It is a matter of honour with him now that he should get his little story quite accurate before passing out of the MARDENS' life for ever. So he comes back for the last time; for the last time we see his head at the window. He whispers to OLIVIA.) MR. PIM. Mrs. Marden! I've just remembered. His name was _Ernest_ Polwittle--_not_ Henry. (He goes off happily. A curious family the MARDENS. Perhaps somebody else would have committed bigamy if he had not remembered in time that it was Ernest. . . . Ernest. . . . Yes. . . . Now he can go back with an easy conscience to the Trevors.) [THE END] _ |
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