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LORD GORING. I should have thought it was the husbands who were
punished.

MRS. MARCHMONT. [Drawing herself up.] Oh, dear no! They are as
happy as possible! And as for trusting us, it is tragic how much
they trust us.

LADY BASILDON. Perfectly tragic!

LORD GORING. Or comic, Lady Basildon?

LADY BASILDON. Certainly not comic, Lord Goring. How unkind of you
to suggest such a thing!

MRS. MARCHMONT. I am afraid Lord Goring is in the camp of the enemy,
as usual. I saw him talking to that Mrs. Cheveley when he came in.

LORD GORING. Handsome woman, Mrs. Cheveley!

LADY BASILDON. [Stiffly.] Please don't praise other women in our
presence. You might wait for us to do that!

LORD GORING. I did wait.

MRS. MARCHMONT. Well, we are not going to praise her. I hear she
went to the Opera on Monday night, and told Tommy Rufford at supper
that, as far as she could see, London Society was entirely made up of
dowdies and dandies.

LORD GORING. She is quite right, too. The men are all dowdies and
the women are all dandies, aren't they?

MRS. MARCHMONT. [After a pause.] Oh! do you really think that is
what Mrs. Cheveley meant?

LORD GORING. Of course. And a very sensible remark for Mrs.
Cheveley to make, too.

[Enter MABEL CHILTERN. She joins the group.]

MABEL CHILTERN. Why are you talking about Mrs. Cheveley? Everybody
is talking about Mrs. Cheveley! Lord Goring says - what did you say,
Lord Goring, about Mrs. Cheveley? Oh! I remember, that she was a
genius in the daytime and a beauty at night.

LADY BASILDON. What a horrid combination! So very unnatural!

MRS. MARCHMONT. [In her most dreamy manner.] I like looking at
geniuses, and listening to beautiful people.

LORD GORING. Ah! that is morbid of you, Mrs. Marchmont!

MRS. MARCHMONT. [Brightening to a look of real pleasure.] I am so
glad to hear you say that. Marchmont and I have been married for
seven years, and he has never once told me that I was morbid. Men
are so painfully unobservant!

LADY BASILDON. [Turning to her.] I have always said, dear Margaret,
that you were the most morbid person in London.

MRS. MARCHMONT. Ah! but you are always sympathetic, Olivia!

MABEL CHILTERN. Is it morbid to have a desire for food? I have a
great desire for food. Lord Goring, will you give me some supper?

LORD GORING. With pleasure, Miss Mabel. [Moves away with her.]

MABEL CHILTERN. How horrid you have been! You have never talked to
me the whole evening!

LORD GORING. How could I? You went away with the child-diplomatist.

MABEL CHILTERN. You might have followed us. Pursuit would have been
only polite. I don't think I like you at all this evening!

LORD GORING. I like you immensely.

MABEL CHILTERN. Well, I wish you'd show it in a more marked way!
[They go downstairs.]

MRS. MARCHMONT. Olivia, I have a curious feeling of absolute

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