Jones. I mean I did tell you. The truth is, they came in anonymously, and I thought they were more likely to be accepted if I said I had written them. (With great emotion.) Forgive me, chief, but it was for the paper's sake. (In matter-of-fact tones.) There were one or two peculiarities of style I had to alter. She had a way of-- Smith (sternly). How many cheques for them have you accepted for the paper's sake? Jones. Eight. For a thousand pounds each. Smith (with tears in his eyes). If your mother were to hear of this-- Jones (sadly). Ah, chief, I have never had a mother. Smith (slightly put out, but recovering himself quickly). What would your father say, if-- Jones. Alas, I have no relations. I was a foundling. Smith (nettled). In that case, I shall certainly tell the master of your workhouse. To think that there should be a thief in this office! Jones (with great pathos). Chief, chief, I am not so vile as that. I have carefully kept all the cheques in an old stocking, and-- Smith (in surprise). Do you wear stockings? Jones. When I bicycle. And as soon as the contributor comes forward-- Smith (stretching out his hand and grasping that of Jones). My dear boy, forgive me. You have been hasty, perhaps, but zealous. In any case, your honesty is above suspicion. Leave me now. I have much to think of. (Rests his head on his hands. Then, dreamily.) YOU have never seen your father; for thirty years _I_ have not seen my wife. ... Ah, Arabella! Jones. Yes, sir. (Rings bell.) Smith. She WOULD split her infinitives. ... We quarrelled. ... She left me. ... I have never seen her again. 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. Jones. 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?