No! Do you want to see him? I will----
PIM (_another look round at staircase and moving down centre_). No, no,
no! Not for the world. There is no immediate danger of his returning,
Mrs. Marden?
OLIVIA (_surprised_). No, I don't think so, Mr. Pim. (_Puts down
curtains_). But... what is it? You----
PIM. I took the liberty of returning by the window in the hope of finding
you alone.
OLIVIA (_sitting again_). Yes?
PIM (_still rather nervous and throwing up his arms in distress_). Mr.
Marden will be so angry with me, and very rightly. Oh, I blame myself. I
blame myself entirely. I don't know how I can have been so stupid. (_Sits
on stool_ L.C. _very concerned_).
OLIVIA. What is it, Mr. Pim? My first husband hasn't come to life again,
has he?
PIM. No! No! No! (_Looking round to_ R. _and speaking very mysteriously
across table_ L.C.) The fact is--his name was Pelwittle.
OLIVIA (_at a loss_). Whose? My husband's?
PIM. Yes, yes. Henry Pelwittle, poor fellow.
OLIVIA. But _my_ husband's name was Telworthy.
PIM. No! Oh dear, no! Pelwittle. (_Firmly_.) It came back to me suddenly
just as I reached the gate--Henry Pelwittle, poor fellow.
OLIVIA. But really, Mr. Pim, I ought to know.
PIM. No! No! Pelwittle.
OLIVIA. But who is Pelwittle?
PIM (_in surprise at her stupidity_). The man I told you about, who met
with the sad fatality at Marseilles. Henry Pelwittle.... (_With hand on
chin, thinking deeply_.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87