Lady Stutfield. There is nothing, nothing like the beauty of home-life, is there?
Kelvil. It is the mainstay of our moral system in England, Lady Stutfield. Without it we would become like our neighbours.
Lady Stutfield. That would be so, so sad, would it not?
Kelvil. I am afraid, too, that Lord Illingworth regards woman simply as a toy. Now, I have never regarded woman as a toy. Woman is the intellectual helpmeet of man in public as in private life. Without her we should forget the true ideals. [Sits down beside Lady Stutfield.]
Lady Stutfield. I am so very, very glad to hear you say that.
Lady Caroline. You a married man, Mr. Kettle?
Sir John. Kelvil, dear, Kelvil.
Kelvil. I am married, Lady Caroline.
Lady Caroline. Family?
Kelvil. Yes.
Lady Caroline. How many?
Kelvil. Eight.
[Lady Stutfield turns her attention to Lord Alfred.]
Lady Caroline. Mrs. Kettle and the children are, I suppose, at the seaside? [Sir John shrugs his shoulders.]
Kelvil. My wife is at the seaside with the children, Lady Caroline.
Lady Caroline. You will join them later on, no doubt?
Kelvil. If my public engagements permit me.
Lady Caroline. Your public life must be a great source of gratification to Mrs. Kettle.
Sir John. Kelvil, my love, Kelvil.
Lady Stutfield. [To Lord Alfred.] How very, very charming those gold-tipped cigarettes of yours are, Lord Alfred.
Lord Alfred. They are awfully expensive. I can only afford them when I’m in debt.
Lady Stutfield. It must be terribly, terribly distressing to be in debt.
Lord Alfred. One must have some occupation nowadays. If I hadn’t my debts I shouldn’t have anything to think about. All the chaps I know are in debt.
Lady Stutfield. But don’t the people to whom you owe the money give you a great, great deal of annoyance?
[Enter Footman.]
Lord Alfred. Oh, no, they write; I don’t.
Lady Stutfield. How very, very strange.
Lady Hunstanton. Ah, here is a letter, Caroline, from dear Mrs. Arbuthnot. She won’t dine. I am so sorry. But she will come in the evening. I am very pleased indeed. She is one of the sweetest of women. Writes a beautiful hand, too, so large, so firm. [Hands letter to Lady Caroline.]
Lady Caroline. [Looking at it.] A little lacking in femininity, Jane. Femininity is the quality I admire most in women.
Lady Hunstanton. [Taking back letter and leaving it on table.] Oh! she is very feminine, Caroline, and so good too. You should hear what the Archdeacon says of her. He regards her as his right hand in the parish. [Footman speaks to her.] In the Yellow Drawing-room. Shall we all go in? Lady Stutfield, shall we go in to tea?
Lady Stutfield. With pleasure, Lady Hunstanton. [They rise and proceed to go off. Sir John offers to carry Lady Stutfield’s cloak.]
Lady Caroline. John! If you would allow your nephew to look after Lady Stutfield’s cloak, you might help me with my workbasket.
[Enter Lord Illingworth and Mrs. Allonby.]
Sir John. Certainly, my love. [Exeunt.]
Mrs. Allonby. Curious thing, plain women are always jealous of their husbands, beautiful women never are!
Lord Illingworth. Beautiful women never have time. They are always so occupied in being jealous of other people’s husbands.
Mrs. Allonby. I should have thought Lady Caroline would have grown tired of conjugal anxiety by this time! Sir John is her fourth!
Lord Illingworth. So much marriage is certainly not becoming. Twenty years of romance make a woman look like a ruin; but twenty years of marriage make her something like a public building.
Mrs. Allonby. Twenty years of romance! Is there such a thing?
Lord Illingworth. Not in our day. Women have become too brilliant. Nothing spoils a romance so much as a sense of humour in the woman.
Mrs. Allonby. Or the want of it in the man.
Lord Illingworth. You are quite right. In a Temple every one should be serious, except the thing that is worshipped.
Mrs. Allonby. And that should be man?
Lord Illingworth. Women kneel so gracefully; men don’t.
Mrs. Allonby. You are thinking of Lady Stutfield!
Lord Illingworth. I assure you I have not thought of Lady Stutfield for the last quarter of an hour.
Mrs. Allonby. Is she such a mystery?
Lord Illingworth. She is more than a mystery—she is a mood.
Mrs. Allonby. Moods don’t last.
Lord Illingworth. It is their chief charm.
[Enter Hester and Gerald.]
Gerald. Lord Illingworth, every one has been congratulating me, Lady Hunstanton and Lady Caroline, and . . . every one. I hope I shall make a good secretary.
Lord Illingworth. You will be the pattern secretary, Gerald. [Talks to him.]
Mrs. Allonby. You enjoy country life, Miss Worsley?
Hester. Very much indeed.
Mrs. Allonby. Don’t find yourself longing for a London dinner-party?
Hester. I dislike London dinner-parties.
Mrs. Allonby. I adore them. The clever people never listen, and the stupid people never talk.
Hester. I think the stupid people talk a great deal.
Mrs. Allonby. Ah, I never listen!
Lord Illingworth. My dear boy, if I didn’t like you I wouldn’t have made you the offer. It is because I like you so much that I want to have you with me.
[Exit Hester with Gerald.]
Charming fellow, Gerald Arbuthnot!
Mrs. Allonby. He is very nice; very nice indeed. But I can’t stand the American young lady.
Lord Illingworth. Why?
Mrs. Allonby. She told me yesterday, and in quite a loud voice too, that she was only eighteen. It was most annoying.
Lord Illingworth. One should never trust a woman who tells one her real age. A woman who would tell one that, would tell one anything.
Mrs. Allonby. She is a Puritan besides—
Lord Illingworth. Ah, that is inexcusable. I don’t mind plain women being Puritans. It is the only excuse they have for being plain. But she is decidedly pretty. I admire her immensely. [Looks steadfastly at Mrs. Allonby.]
Mrs. Allonby. What a thoroughly bad man you must be!
Lord Illingworth. What do you call a bad man?
Mrs. Allonby. The sort of man who admires innocence.
Lord Illingworth. And a bad woman?
Mrs. Allonby. Oh! the sort of woman a man never gets tired of.
Lord Illingworth. You are severe—on yourself.
Mrs. Allonby. Define us as a sex.
Lord Illingworth. Sphinxes without secrets.
Mrs. Allonby. Does that include the Puritan women?
Lord Illingworth. Do you know, I don’t believe in the existence of Puritan women? I don’t think there is a woman in the world who would not be a little flattered if one made love to her. It is that which makes women so irresistibly adorable.
Mrs. Allonby. You think there is no woman in the world who would object to being kissed?
Lord Illingworth. Very few.
Mrs. Allonby. Miss Worsley would not let you kiss her.
Lord Illingworth. Are you sure?
Mrs. Allonby. Quite.
Lord Illingworth. What do you think she’d do if I kissed her?
Mrs. Allonby. Either marry you, or strike you across the face with her glove. What would you do if she struck you across the face with her glove?
Lord Illingworth. Fall in love with her, probably.
Mrs. Allonby. Then it is lucky you are not going to kiss her!
Lord Illingworth. Is that a challenge?
Mrs. Allonby. It is an arrow shot into the air.
Lord Illingworth. Don’t you know that I always succeed in whatever I try?
Mrs. Allonby. I am sorry to hear it. We women adore failures. They lean on us.
Lord Illingworth. You worship successes. You cling to them.
Mrs. Allonby. We are the laurels to hide their baldness.
Lord Illingworth. And they need you always, except at the moment of triumph.
Mrs. Allonby. They are uninteresting then.
Lord Illingworth. How tantalising you are! [A pause.]
Mrs. Allonby. Lord Illingworth, there is one thing I shall always like you for.
Lord Illingworth. Only one thing? And I have so many bad qualities.
Mrs. Allonby. Ah, don’t be too conceited about them. You may lose them as you grow old.
Lord Illingworth. I never intend to grow old. The soul is born old but grows young. That is the comedy of life.
Mrs. Allonby. And the body is born young and grows old. That is life’s tragedy.
Lord Illingworth. Its comedy also, sometimes. But what is the mysterious reason why you will always like me?
Mrs. Allonby. It is that you have never made love to me.
Lord Illingworth. I have never done anything else.
Mrs. Allonby. Really? I have not noticed it.
Lord Illingworth. How fortunate! It might have been a tragedy for both of us.
Mrs. Allonby. We should each have survived.
Lord Illingworth. One can survive everything nowadays, except death, and live down anything except a good reputation.
Mrs. Allonby. Have you tried a good reputation?
Lord Illingworth. It is one of the many annoyances to which I have never been subjected.
Mrs. Allonby. It may come.
Lord Illingworth. Why do you threaten me?
Mrs. Allonby. I will tell you when you have kissed the Puritan.
[Enter Footman.]
Francis. Tea is served in the Yellow Drawing-room, my lord.
Lord Illingworth. Tell her ladyship we are coming in.
Francis. Yes, my lord.
[Exit.]
Lord Illingworth. Shall we go in to tea?
Mrs. Allonby. Do you like such simple pleasures?
Lord Illingworth. I adore simple pleasures. They are the last refuge of the complex. But, if you wish, let us stay here. Yes, let us stay here. The Book of Life begins with a man and a woman in a garden.
Mrs. Allonby. It ends with Revelations.
Lord Illingworth. You fence divinely. But the button has come off your foil.
Mrs. Allonby. I have still the mask.
Lord Illingworth. It makes your eyes lovelier.
Mrs. Allonby. Thank you. Come.
Lord Illingworth. [Sees Mrs. Arbuthnot’s letter on table, and takes it up and looks at envelope.] What a curious handwriting! It reminds me of the handwriting of a woman I used to know years ago.
Mrs. Allonby. Who?
Lord Illingworth. Oh! no one. No one in particular. A woman of no importance. [Throws letter down, and passes up the steps of the terrace with Mrs.
