PIM. No, no, Polwittle.
OLIVIA. But, really I ought to. . .
PIM (firmly). Polwittle. It came back to me suddenly just as I reached the gate. For the moment, I had thoughts of conveying the news by letter. I was naturally disinclined to return in person, and—Polwittle. (Proudly) If you remember, I always said it was a curious name.
OLIVIA. But who is Polwittle?
PIM (in surprise at her stupidity). The man I have been telling you about, who met with the sad fatality at Marseilles. Henry Polwittle—or was it Ernest? No, Henry, I think. Poor fellow.
OLIVIA (indignantly). But you said his name was Telworthy! How could you?
PIM. Yes, yes, I blame myself entirely.
OLIVIA. But how could you think of a name like Telworthy, if it wasn't Telworthy?
PIM (eagerly). Ah, that is the really interesting thing about the whole matter.
OLIVIA. Mr. Pim, all your visits here to-day have been interesting.