unless they send John at once to the Upper House. He won’t take any interest in politics then, will he? The House of Lords is so sensible. An assembly of gentlemen. But in his present state, Sir John is really a great trial. Why, this morning before breakfast was half over, he stood up on the hearthrug, put his hands in his pockets, and appealed to the country at the top of his voice. I left the table as soon as I had my second cup of tea, I need hardly say. But his violent language could be heard all over the house! I trust, Gertrude, that Sir Robert is not like that?
LADY CHILTERN. But I am very much interested in politics, Lady Markby. I love to hear Robert talk about them.
LADY MARKBY. Well, I hope he is not as devoted to Blue Books as Sir John is. I don’t think they can be quite improving reading for any one.
MRS. CHEVELEY [Languidly.] I have never read a Blue Book. I prefer books … in yellow covers.
LADY MARKBY. [Genially unconscious.] Yellow is a gayer colour, is it not? I used to wear yellow a good deal in my early days, and would do so now if Sir John was not so painfully personal in his observations, and a man on the question of dress is always ridiculous, is he not?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Oh, no! I think men are the only authorities on dress.
LADY MARKBY. Really? One wouldn’t say so from the sort of hats they wear? would one?
[The butler enters, followed by the footman. Tea is set on a small table close to LADY CHILTERN.]
LADY CHILTERN. May I give you some tea, Mrs. Cheveley?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Thanks. [The butler hands MRS. CHEVELEY a cup of tea on a salver.]
LADY CHILTERN. Some tea, Lady Markby?
LADY MARKBY. No thanks, dear. [The servants go out.] The fact is, I have promised to go round for ten minutes to see poor Lady Brancaster, who is in very great trouble. Her daughter, quite a well-brought-up girl, too, has actually become engaged to be married to a curate in Shropshire. It is very sad, very sad indeed. I can’t understand this modern mania for curates. In my time we girls saw them, of course, running about the place like rabbits. But we never took any notice of them, I need hardly say. But I am told that nowadays country society is quite honeycombed with them. I think it most irreligious. And then the eldest son has quarrelled with his father, and it is said that when they meet at the club Lord Brancaster always hides himself behind the money article in The Times. However, I believe that is quite a common occurrence nowadays and that they have to take in extra copies of The Times at all the clubs in St. James’s Street; there are so many sons who won’t have anything to do with their fathers, and so many fathers who won’t speak to their sons. I think myself, it is very much to be regretted.
MRS. CHEVELEY. So do I. Fathers have so much to learn from their sons nowadays.
LADY MARKBY. Really, dear? What?
MRS. CHEVELEY. The art of living. The only really Fine Art we have produced in modern times.
LADY MARKBY. [Shaking her head.] Ah! I am afraid Lord Brancaster knew a good deal about that. More than his poor wife ever did. [Turning to LADY CHILTERN.] You know Lady Brancaster, don’t you, dear?
LADY CHILTERN. Just slightly. She was staying at Langton last autumn, when we were there.
LADY MARKBY. Well, like all stout women, she looks the very picture of happiness, as no doubt you noticed. But there are many tragedies in her family, besides this affair of the curate. Her own sister, Mrs. Jekyll, had a most unhappy life; through no fault of her own, I am sorry to say. She ultimately was so broken-hearted that she went into a convent, or on to the operatic stage, I forget which. No; I think it was decorative art-needlework she took up. I know she had lost all sense of pleasure in life. [Rising.] And now, Gertrude, if you will allow me, I shall leave Mrs. Cheveley in your charge and call back for her in a quarter of an hour. Or perhaps, dear Mrs. Cheveley, you wouldn’t mind waiting in the carriage while I am with Lady Brancaster. As I intend it to be a visit of condolence, I shan’t stay long.
MRS. CHEVELEY [Rising.] I don’t mind waiting in the carriage at all, provided there is somebody to look at one.
LADY MARKBY. Well, I hear the curate is always prowling about the house.
MRS. CHEVELEY. I am afraid I am not fond of girl friends.
LADY CHILTERN [Rising.] Oh, I hope Mrs. Cheveley will stay here a little. I should like to have a few minutes’ conversation with her.
MRS. CHEVELEY. How very kind of you, Lady Chiltern! Believe me, nothing would give me greater pleasure.
LADY MARKBY. Ah! no doubt you both have many pleasant reminiscences of your schooldays to talk over together. Goodbye, dear Gertrude! Shall I see you at Lady Bonar’s tonight? She has discovered a wonderful new genius. He does … nothing at all, I believe. That is a great comfort, is it not?
LADY CHILTERN. Robert and I are dining at home by ourselves tonight, and I don’t think I shall go anywhere afterwards. Robert, of course, will have to be in the House. But there is nothing interesting on.
LADY MARKBY. Dining at home by yourselves? Is that quite prudent? Ah, I forgot, your husband is an exception. Mine is the general rule, and nothing ages a woman so rapidly as having married the general rule. [Exit LADY MARKBY.]
MRS. CHEVELEY. Wonderful woman, Lady Markby, isn’t she? Talks more and says less than anybody I ever met. She is made to be a public speaker. Much more so than her husband, though he is a typical Englishman, always dull and usually violent.
LADY CHILTERN. [Makes no answer, but remains standing. There is a pause. Then the eyes of the two women meet. LADY CHILTERN looks stern and pale. MRS. CHEVELEY seem rather amused.] Mrs. Cheveley, I think it is right to tell you quite frankly that, had I known who you really were, I should not have invited you to my house last night.
MRS. CHEVELEY [With an impertinent smile.] Really?
LADY CHILTERN. I could not have done so.
MRS. CHEVELEY. I see that after all these years you have not changed a bit, Gertrude.
LADY CHILTERN. I never change.
MRS. CHEVELEY [Elevating her eyebrows.] Then life has taught you nothing?
LADY CHILTERN. It has taught me that a person who has once been guilty of a dishonest and dishonourable action may be guilty of it a second time, and should be shunned.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Would you apply that rule to every one?
LADY CHILTERN. Yes, to every one, without exception.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Then I am sorry for you, Gertrude, very sorry for you.
LADY CHILTERN. You see now, I was sure, that for many reasons any further acquaintance between us during your stay in London is quite impossible?
MRS. CHEVELEY [Leaning back in her chair.] Do you know, Gertrude, I don’t mind your talking morality a bit. Morality is simply the attitude we adopt towards people whom we personally dislike. You dislike me. I am quite aware of that. And I have always detested you. And yet I have come here to do you a service.
LADY CHILTERN. [Contemptuously.] Like the service you wished to render my husband last night, I suppose. Thank heaven, I saved him from that.
MRS. CHEVELEY. [Starting to her feet.] It was you who made him write that insolent letter to me? It was you who made him break his promise?
LADY CHILTERN. Yes.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Then you must make him keep it. I give you till tomorrow morning — no more. If by that time your husband does not solemnly bind himself to help me in this great scheme in which I am interested —
LADY CHILTERN. This fraudulent speculation —
MRS. CHEVELEY. Call it what you choose. I hold your husband in the hollow of my hand, and if you are wise you will make him do what I tell him.
LADY CHILTERN. [Rising and going towards her.] You are impertinent. What has my husband to do with you? With a woman like you?
MRS.