Poor George. Dear, don't think I don't sympathize with you.
I understand so exactly what you are feeling. The publicity! It's
terrible.
GEORGE (_miserably and turning in his chair to her_). I want to do what's
right. You believe that, don't you?
OLIVIA. Of course I do. (_Taking her hands away_.) 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--
OLIVIA (_with great feeling_). Mine?
GEORGE. My conscience----
OLIVIA (_disappointed_). Oh!
GEORGE. Then I can't do it. (_Rises and is going up_ L.) It's wrong.
OLIVIA (_making her first appeal_). Yes; but, George, don't you think I'm
worth a little--
GEORGE (_turning round, seeing_ DINAH _coming_). H'sh! Dinah! (_Moves
back to writing-table. Loudly for_ DINAH'S _benefit_.) Well, then I'll
write to him and--Ah, Dinah, where's Aunt Julia?
DINAH (_coming in from up_ L.). We've seen the pigs, and now she's
discussing the Art of Landseer with Brian. (_Crossing in front of
writing-table to_ OLIVIA.
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