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?
Smith. Yes, that's true. … (Suddenly.) By Jove, though, you have got something! You have eight thousand pounds! We owe you that for your articles. (With a return to his professional manner.) Did I tell you how greatly we all appreciated them? (Goes to telephone.) Is that you, Jones? Just come here a moment. (To Arabella.) Jones is my sub-editor; he is keeping your money for you.
Enter Jones.