George. I don't see the necessity.
Olivia. Well, you'll want to–to apologize to him for living with his wife for so long. (George looks up and round at her nonplussed). And as I belong to him, he ought to be told where he can–call for me.
George (after a struggle and scratching his head). You put it in a very peculiar way, but I see your point. (With a shudder.) Oh, the horrible publicity of it all! (Turns away and leans on writing-table.)
Olivia (going up to him and comforting him, placing her hands on his shoulders). Poor George. Dear, don't think I don't sympathize with you. I understand so exactly what you are feeling. The publicity! It's terrible.
George (miserably and turning in his chair to her). I want to do what's right. You believe that, don't you?
Olivia. Of course I do. (Taking her hands away.) It's only that we don't quite agree as to what is right and what is wrong.
George. It isn't a question of agreeing. Right is right, and wrong is wrong, all the world over.
Olivia (with a sad little smile). But more particularly in Buckinghamshire, I think.
George. If I only considered myself, I should say: "Let us pack this man Telworthy back to Australia. He would make no claim. He would accept money to go away and say nothing about it." If I consulted simply my own happiness, Olivia, that, is what I should say. But when I consult–er–
Olivia (with great feeling). Mine?