OLIVIA. I'm afraid you'll have to, dear.
GEORGE. I don't see the necessity.
OLIVIA. Well, you'll want to—to apologise to him for living with his wife for so long. And as I belong to him, he ought to be told where he can—call for me.
GEORGE (after a struggle). You put it in a very peculiar way, but I see your-point. (With a shudder) Oh, the horrible publicity of it all!
OLIVIA (going up to him and comforting him). Poor George. Dear, don't think I don't sympathise with you. I understand so exactly what you are feeling. The publicity! It's terrible.
GEORGE (miserably). I want to do what's right, Olivia. You believe that?
OLIVIA. Of course I do. 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——