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.