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.
OLIVIA. Yours, George? Your life isn't wrecked. The Court will absolve you of all blame; your friends will sympathise with you, and tell you that I was a designing woman who deliberately took you in; your Aunt Julia——
GEORGE (overwrought). Stop it! What do you mean? Have you no heart? Do you think I want to lose you, Olivia? Do you think I want my home broken up like this? Haven't you been happy with me these last five years?
OLIVIA. Very happy.