(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?