Previous - Next

Ah! I hate being educated!

MRS. MARCHMONT. So do I. It puts one almost on a level with the
commercial classes, doesn't it? But dear Gertrude Chiltern is always
telling me that I should have some serious purpose in life. So I
come here to try to find one.

LADY BASILDON. [Looking round through her lorgnette.] I don't see
anybody here to-night whom one could possibly call a serious purpose.
The man who took me in to dinner talked to me about his wife the
whole time.

MRS. MARCHMONT. How very trivial of him!

LADY BASILDON. Terribly trivial! What did your man talk about?

MRS. MARCHMONT. About myself.

LADY BASILDON. [Languidly.] And were you interested?

MRS. MARCHMONT. [Shaking her head.] Not in the smallest degree.

LADY BASILDON. What martyrs we are, dear Margaret!

MRS. MARCHMONT. [Rising.] And how well it becomes us, Olivia!

[They rise and go towards the music-room. The VICOMTE DE NANJAC, a
young attache known for his neckties and his Anglomania, approaches
with a low bow, and enters into conversation.]

MASON. [Announcing guests from the top of the staircase.] Mr. and
Lady Jane Barford. Lord Caversham.

[Enter LORD CAVERSHAM, an old gentleman of seventy, wearing the
riband and star of the Garter. A fine Whig type. Rather like a
portrait by Lawrence.]

LORD CAVERSHAM. Good evening, Lady Chiltern! Has my good-for-
nothing young son been here?

LADY CHILTERN. [Smiling.] I don't think Lord Goring has arrived
yet.

MABEL CHILTERN. [Coming up to LORD CAVERSHAM.] Why do you call Lord
Goring good-for-nothing?

[MABEL CHILTERN is a perfect example of the English type of
prettiness, the apple-blossom type. She has all the fragrance and
freedom of a flower. There is ripple after ripple of sunlight in her
hair, and the little mouth, with its parted lips, is expectant, like
the mouth of a child. She has the fascinating tyranny of youth, and
the astonishing courage of innocence. To sane people she is not
reminiscent of any work of art. But she is really like a Tanagra
statuette, and would be rather annoyed if she were told so.]

LORD CAVERSHAM. Because he leads such an idle life.

MABEL CHILTERN. How can you say such a thing? Why, he rides in the
Row at ten o'clock in the morning, goes to the Opera three times a
week, changes his clothes at least five times a day, and dines out
every night of the season. You don't call that leading an idle life,
do you?

LORD CAVERSHAM. [Looking at her with a kindly twinkle in his eyes.]
You are a very charming young lady!

MABEL CHILTERN. How sweet of you to say that, Lord Caversham! Do
come to us more often. You know we are always at home on Wednesdays,
and you look so well with your star!

LORD CAVERSHAM. Never go anywhere now. Sick of London Society.
Shouldn't mind being introduced to my own tailor; he always votes on

Previous - Next