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——­