GEORGE. You never _were_ my wife. That is the terrible part of it. Our union--you make me say it, Olivia--has been unhallowed by the Church. Unhallowed even by the Law. Legally, we have been living in--living in--well, the point is, how does the Law stand? I imagine that Telworthy could get a--a divorce. . . . Oh, it seems impossible that things like this can be happening to _us_. OLIVIA (Joyfully). A divorce? 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.