OLIVIA. Well, what I _do_ mean _is_, 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 (_bangs table_) ... nonsense in my life. _I will leave you to come back to your senses._ (_He goes out, up staircase up_ R.) (OLIVIA _rises and crosses to centre, watching_ GEORGE _off. She kisses her hands to him, then turning to_ L. _sees curtains and work-box and extending her arms in ecstasy goes to cabinet, takes them up and comes down_ L. OLIVIA _sits on settee with curtains in her lap and places the work-box to her_ L. _on settee, and as she does so_ MR. PIM _enters from up_ R. _through windows and coming to_ R. _of writing-table taps it with his umbrella to attract_ OLIVIA'S _attention. She turns and sees him. He looks nervously round at staircase_ R. _fearing the return of_ GEORGE.) PIM (_in a whisper_). Er--may I come in, Mrs. Marden? OLIVIA (_in surprise_). Mr. Pim! PIM (_anxiously and again looking round at staircase_). Mr. Marden is-- er--not here? OLIVIA (_getting up_). No! Do you want to see him? I will---- PIM (_another look round at staircase and moving down centre_). No, no, no! Not for the world. There is no immediate danger of his returning, Mrs. Marden? OLIVIA (_surprised_). No, I don't think so, Mr. Pim. (_Puts down curtains_). But... what is it? You---- PIM. I took the liberty of returning by the window in the hope of finding you alone. OLIVIA (_sitting again_). Yes? PIM (_still rather nervous and throwing up his arms in distress_). Mr. Marden will be so angry with me, and very rightly. Oh, I blame myself. I blame myself entirely. I don't know how I can have been so stupid. (_Sits on stool_ L.C. _very concerned_). OLIVIA. What is it, Mr. Pim? My first husband hasn't come to life again, has he? PIM. No! No! No! (_Looking round to_ R. _and speaking very mysteriously across table_ L.C.) The fact is--his name was Pelwittle. OLIVIA (_at a loss_). Whose? My husband's? PIM. Yes, yes. Henry Pelwittle, poor fellow. OLIVIA. But _my_ husband's name was Telworthy. PIM. No! Oh dear, no! Pelwittle. (_Firmly_.) It came back to me suddenly just as I reached the gate--Henry Pelwittle, poor fellow. OLIVIA. But really, Mr. Pim, I ought to know. PIM. No! No! Pelwittle. OLIVIA. But who is Pelwittle? PIM (_in surprise at her stupidity_). The man I told you about, who met with the sad fatality at Marseilles. Henry Pelwittle.... (_With hand on chin, thinking deeply_.) Or was it _Ernest_? No! _Henry_ Pelwittle, poor fellow. OLIVIA (_indignantly_). But, Mr. Pim, you said his name was Telworthy. How could you? PIM. Oh, I blame myself, I blame myself entirely. OLIVIA. But how could you _think_ of a name like Telworthy if it wasn't Telworthy? PIM (_eagerly_). Ah, ah, that is the really interesting thing about the whole matter.