DINAH (_taking him up L._). I want to hear all about your first wife.

PIM. Oh, but I haven't got a first wife.

DINAH. You haven't really told me anything yet.

(_They go off up L._)

BRIAN. I'll catch you up.

(OLIVIA _resumes her work, and_ BRIAN _crosses down to foot of table L.C., and sits on it._)

BRIAN (_awkwardly_). I just wanted to say, if you don't think it cheek, that I'm--I'm on your side, if I may be and if I can help you at all, I shall be very proud of being allowed to.

OLIVIA (_looking up at him and taking his hand_). Brian, you dear, that's sweet of you. But it's quite all right now, you know.

BRIAN. What?

OLIVIA. Yes, that's what Mr. Pim came back to say. He'd made a mistake about the name--

BRIAN (_rising_). Good Lord!

OLIVIA (_smiling_). George is the only husband I have.

BRIAN (_surprised_). What? You mean that the whole thing that Pim--

OLIVIA (_repeating_). The whole thing.

BRIAN (_crossing up to window R. and shouting off to L. and with conviction_). Silly a.s.s!

OLIVIA (_kindly_). Oh, no, no, I'm sure he didn't mean to be. (_After a pause_.) Brian, do you know anything about the law?

BRIAN (_coming down_ C.). The law? I'm afraid not. I hate the law. Why?

(_Sits at foot of table_ L.C.)

OLIVIA. Well, I was just wondering. Suppose that George and I had accidentally married each other a second time thinking that the first marriage wasn't quite right, and then we found the first marriage was all right--well----

BRIAN. What on earth do you mean?

OLIVIA. Well, what I mean is that there's nothing wrong in marrying the same person twice?

BRIAN (_rising and moving to centre, thinking it out_). Oh, no. A hundred times if you like, I should think.

OLIVIA. Oh!

BRIAN. After all, in France they always go through it twice, don't they?

Once before the Mayor or somebody, and once in church.

OLIVIA. Of course they do! How silly of me. You know, that's a very good idea. They ought to do that more in England.

BRIAN. Well, once will be enough for Dinah and me, if you can work it.

(_Anxiously_.) D'you think there's any chance, Olivia?

OLIVIA (_smiling_). Every chance, dear.

BRIAN (_coming to above table_ L.C.). I say, do you really? Have you squared him? I mean has he----

(GEORGE _is heard humming the tune of "Pop goes the weasel" off_ R.)

OLIVIA. You go and catch them up now. We'll talk about it later on.

BRIAN. Bless you. Right-o!

(_Going up_ L. _and off up_ L.)

(_As he goes out by the windows,_ GEORGE _comes in at the doors_ R.

GEORGE _stands_ R.C., _and then turns to_ OLIVIA, _who is absorbed in her curtain. He walks up and down the room, fidgeting with things, waiting for her to speak. As she says nothing, he begins to talk himself, but in an obviously unconcerned way. There is a pause after each answer of hers, before he gets out his next remark_.)

GEORGE (_casually_). Good-looking fellow, Strange. What?

OLIVIA (_equally casually_). Brian, yes, isn't he? And such a nice boy.

GEORGE. Yes, yes! (_Catching sight of curtain she is sewing. Hums the tune of "Pop goes the weasel"--crossing down_ R. _to piano, plays a few notes of "Pop goes the weasel" with one finger_.) Got fifty pounds for a picture the other day, didn't he? (_Moving up stage a little_.)

OLIVIA. Ah, yes! Of course he has only just begun----

GEORGE. The critics think well of him, (_Slight pause_.) What?

(_Up C. by chair front of writing-table_.)

OLIVIA. They all say he has genius. Oh, I don't think there's any doubt about it. (_Pause_.)

(GEORGE _left of writing-table_.)

GEORGE. No, no! (_Slight pause, and he sings again_.) Of course I don't profess to know anything about painting, myself.

OLIVIA. You've never had time to take it up, dear.

GEORGE (_coming down_ L. _a little_.) No! No! Of course I know what I like. Can't say I see much in this new-fangled stuff. If a man can paint, why can't he paint like--like Rubens, or--or Reynolds, or----

OLIVIA. I suppose we all have our own styles. Brian will be finding his, directly. Of course, he's only just beginning. (_Pause_.)

GEORGE (_crossing up centre_). Yes, yes. But the critics think a lot of him, what?

OLIVIA. Oh, yes.

GEORGE. Yes! H'm! (_Pause_.) Good-looking fellow.

(_There is rather a longer silence this time._ GEORGE _coming round back of settee L. continues to hope that he is appearing casual and unconcerned--he stands looking at_ OLIVIA'S _work for a moment_.)