o 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