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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...
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