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the irrational.

      mrs. cheveley. Well-dressed women do.

      sir robert chiltern. [With a polite bow.] I fear I could hardly agree with you there. But do sit down. And now tell me, what makes you leave your brilliant Vienna for our gloomy London – or perhaps the question is indiscreet?

      mrs. cheveley. Questions are never indiscreet. Answers sometimes are.

      sir robert chiltern. Well, at any rate, may I know if it is politics or pleasure?

      mrs. cheveley. Politics are my only pleasure. You see nowadays it is not fashionable to flirt till one is forty, or to be romantic till one is forty-five, so we poor women who are under thirty, or say we are, have nothing open to us but politics or philanthropy. And philanthropy seems to me to have become simply the refuge of people who wish to annoy their fellow-creatures. I prefer politics. I think they are more.. becoming!

      sir robert chiltern. A political life is a noble career!

      mrs. cheveley. Sometimes. And sometimes it is a clever game, Sir Robert. And sometimes it is a great nuisance.

      sir robert chiltern. Which do you find it?

      mrs. cheveley. I? A combination of all three. [Drops her fan.]

      sir robert chiltern. [Picks up fan.] Allow me!

      mrs. cheveley. Thanks.

      sir robert chiltern. But you have not told me yet what makes you honour London so suddenly. Our season is almost over.

      mrs. cheveley. Oh! I don’t care about the London season! It is too matrimonial. People are either hunting for husbands, or hiding from them. I wanted to meet you. It is quite true. You know what a woman’s curiosity is. Almost as great as a man’s! I wanted immensely to meet you, and.. to ask you to do something for me.

      sir robert chiltern. I hope it is not a little thing, Mrs. Cheveley. I find that little things are so very difficult to do.

      mrs. cheveley. [After a moment’s reflection.] No, I don’t think it is quite a little thing.

      sir robert chiltern. I am so glad. Do tell me what it is.

      mrs. cheveley. Later on. [Rises.] And now may I walk through your beautiful house? I hear your pictures are charming. Poor Baron Arnheim – you remember the Baron? – used to tell me you had some wonderful Corots.

      sir robert chiltern. [With an almost imperceptible start.] Did you know Baron Arnheim well?

      mrs. cheveley. [Smiling.] Intimately. Did you?

      sir robert chiltern. At one time.

      mrs. cheveley. Wonderful man, wasn’t he?

      sir robert chiltern. [After a pause.] He was very remarkable, in many ways.

      mrs. cheveley. I often think it such a pity he never wrote his memoirs. They would have been most interesting.

      sir robert chiltern. Yes: he knew men and cities well, like the old Greek.

      mrs. cheveley. Without the dreadful disadvantage of having a Penelope waiting at home for him.

      mason. Lord Goring.

      [Enter lord goring. Thirty-four, but always says he is younger. A well-bred, expressionless face. He is clever, but would not like to be thought so. A flawless dandy, he would be annoyed if he were considered romantic. He plays with life, and is on perfectly good terms with the world. He is fond of being misunderstood. It gives him a post of vantage.]

      sir robert chiltern. Good evening, my dear Arthur! Mrs. Cheveley, allow me to introduce to you Lord Goring, the idlest man in London.

      mrs. cheveley. I have met Lord Goring before.

      lord goring. [Bowing.] I did not think you would remember me, Mrs. Cheveley.

      mrs. cheveley. My memory is under admirable control. And are you still a bachelor?

      lord goring. I.. believe so.

      mrs. cheveley. How very romantic!

      lord goring. Oh! I am not at all romantic. I am not old enough. I leave romance to my seniors.

      sir robert chiltern. Lord Goring is the result of Boodle’s Club, Mrs. Cheveley.

      mrs. cheveley. He reflects every credit on the institution.

      lord goring. May I ask are you staying in London long?

      mrs. cheveley. That depends partly on the weather, partly on the cooking, and partly on Sir Robert.

      sir robert chiltern. You are not going to plunge us into a European war, I hope?

      mrs. cheveley. There is no danger, at present!

      [She nods to lord goring, with a look of amusement in her eyes, and goes out with sir robert chiltern. lord goring saunters over to mabel chiltern.]

      mabel chiltern. You are very late!

      lord goring. Have you missed me?

      mabel chiltern. Awfully!

      lord goring. Then I am sorry I did not stay away longer. I like being missed.

      mabel chiltern. How very selfish of you!

      lord goring. I am very selfish.

      mabel chiltern. You are always telling me of your bad qualities, Lord Goring.

      lord goring. I have only told you half of them as yet, Miss Mabel!

      mabel chiltern. Are the others very bad?

      lord goring. Quite dreadful! When I think of them at night I go to sleep at once.

      mabel chiltern. Well, I delight in your bad qualities. I wouldn’t have you part with one of them.

      lord goring. How very nice of you! But then you are always nice. By the way, I want to ask you a question, Miss Mabel. Who brought Mrs. Cheveley here? That woman in heliotrope, who has just gone out of the room with your brother?

      mabel chiltern. Oh, I think Lady Markby brought her. Why do you ask?

      lord goring. I haven’t seen her for years, that is all.

      mabel chiltern. What an absurd reason!

      lord goring. All reasons are absurd.

      mabel chiltern. What sort of a woman is she?

      lord goring. Oh! a genius in the daytime and a beauty at night!

      mabel chiltern. I dislike her already.

      lord goring. That shows your admirable good taste.

      vicomte de nanjac. [Approaching.] Ah, the English young lady is the dragon of good taste, is she not? Quite the dragon of good taste.

      lord goring. So the newspapers are always telling us.

      vicomte de nanjac. I read all your English newspapers. I find them so amusing.

      lord goring. Then, my dear Nanjac, you must certainly read between the lines.

      vicomte

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