~Jones.~ (_excitedly_). Did you say she split her infinitives? ~Smith.~ Yes. That was what led to our separation. Why? ~Jones.~ Nothing, only--it's very odd. I wonder---- _Enter_ Boy. ~Boy.~ Did you ring, Sir? ~Smith.~ No. But you can show the lady up. (_Exit_ Boy.) You'd better clear out, Jones. I'll explain to her about the money. ~Smith.~ Right you are, Sir. (_Exit._) (Smith _leans back in his chair and stares in front of him._) ~Smith~ (_to himself_). Arabella! _Enter_ Boy, _followed by a stylishly dressed lady of middle age._ ~Boy.~ Mrs. Robinson. (_Exit._) (Mrs. Robinson _stops short in the middle of the room and stares at the Editor; then staggers and drops on to the sofa._) ~Smith~ (_in wonder_). Arabella! ~Mrs. Robinson.~ William! (_They fall into each other's arms._) ~Arabella.~ I had begun to almost despair. (_Smith winces._) "Almost to despair," I mean, darling. ~Smith~ (_with a great effort_). No, no, dear. You were right. ~Arabella.~ How sweet of you to think so, William. ~Smith.~ Yes, yes, it's the least I can say.... I have been very lonely without you, dear.... And now, what shall we do? Shall we get married again quietly? ~Arabella.~ Wouldn't that be bigamy? ~Smith.~ I think not, but I will ask the printer's reader. He knows everything. You see, there will be such a lot to explain, otherwise. ~Arabella.~ Dear, can you afford to marry? ~Smith.~ Well, my salary as editor is only twenty thousand a year, but I do a little reviewing for other papers. ~Arabella.~ And I have--nothing. How can I come to you without even a trousseau? ~Smith.~ Yes, that's true.... (_Suddenly_) By Jove, though, you _have_ got something! You have eight thousand pounds! We owe you that for your articles. (_With a return to his professional manner._) Did I tell you how greatly we all appreciated them? (_Goes to telephone._) Is that you, Jones? Just come here a moment. (_To_ Arabella) Jones is my sub-editor; he is keeping your money for you. _Enter_ Jones. ~Jones~ (_producing an old stocking_). I've just been round to my rooms to get that money--(_sees_ Arabella)--oh, I beg your pardon. ~Smith~ (_waving an introduction_). Mrs. Smith--my wife. This is our sub-editor, dear--Mr. Jones. (_Arabella puts her hand to her heart and seems about to faint._) Why, what's the matter? ~Arabella~ (_hoarsely_). Where did you get that stocking? ~Smith~ (_pleasantly_). It's one he wears when he goes bicycling. ~Jones.~ No; I misled you this afternoon, chief. This stocking was all the luggage I had when I first entered the Leamington workhouse. ~Arabella~ (_throwing herself into his arms_). My son! This is your father! William--our boy!