An Ideal Husband Part 17

PHIPPS. [_Replaces lamp_.] Certainly, madam.

MRS. CHEVELEY. I hope the candles have very becoming shades.

PHIPPS. We have had no complaints about them, madam, as yet.

[_Pa.s.ses into the drawing-room and begins to light the candles_.]

MRS. CHEVELEY. [_To herself_.] I wonder what woman he is waiting for to-night. It will be delightful to catch him. Men always look so silly when they are caught. And they are always being caught. [_Looks about room and approaches the writing-table_.] What a very interesting room!

What a very interesting picture! Wonder what his correspondence is like.

[_Takes up letters_.] Oh, what a very uninteresting correspondence!

Bills and cards, debts and dowagers! Who on earth writes to him on pink paper? How silly to write on pink paper! It looks like the beginning of a middle-cla.s.s romance. Romance should never begin with sentiment. It should begin with science and end with a settlement. [_Puts letter down_, _then takes it up again_.] I know that handwriting. That is Gertrude Chiltern's. I remember it perfectly. The ten commandments in every stroke of the pen, and the moral law all over the page. Wonder what Gertrude is writing to him about? Something horrid about me, I suppose. How I detest that woman! [_Reads it_.] 'I trust you. I want you. I am coming to you. Gertrude.' 'I trust you. I want you. I am coming to you.'

[_A look of triumph comes over her face_. _She is just about to steal the letter_, _when_ PHIPPS _comes in_.]

PHIPPS. The candles in the drawing-room are lit, madam, as you directed.

MRS. CHEVELEY. Thank you. [_Rises hastily and slips the letter under a large silver-cased blotting-book that is lying on the table_.]

PHIPPS. I trust the shades will be to your liking, madam. They are the most becoming we have. They are the same as his lordship uses himself when he is dressing for dinner.

MRS. CHEVELEY. [_With a smile_.] Then I am sure they will be perfectly right.

PHIPPS. [_Gravely_.] Thank you, madam.

[MRS. CHEVELEY _goes into the drawing-room_. PHIPPS _closes the door and retires_. _The door is then slowly opened_, _and_ MRS. CHEVELEY _comes out and creeps stealthily towards the writing-table_. _Suddenly voices are heard from the smoking-room_. MRS. CHEVELEY _grows pale_, _and stops_. _The voices grow louder_, _and she goes back into the drawing-room_, _biting her lip_.]

[_Enter_ LORD GORING _and_ LORD CAVERSHAM.]

LORD GORING. [_Expostulating_.] My dear father, if I am to get married, surely you will allow me to choose the time, place, and person?

Particularly the person.

LORD CAVERSHAM. [_Testily_.] That is a matter for me, sir. You would probably make a very poor choice. It is I who should be consulted, not you. There is property at stake. It is not a matter for affection.

Affection comes later on in married life.

LORD GORING. Yes. In married life affection comes when people thoroughly dislike each other, father, doesn't it? [_Puts on_ LORD CAVERSHAM'S _cloak for him_.]

LORD CAVERSHAM. Certainly, sir. I mean certainly not, air. You are talking very foolishly to-night. What I say is that marriage is a matter for common sense.

LORD GORING. But women who have common sense are so curiously plain, father, aren't they? Of course I only speak from hearsay.

LORD CAVERSHAM. No woman, plain or pretty, has any common sense at all, sir. Common sense is the privilege of our s.e.x.

LORD GORING. Quite so. And we men are so self-sacrificing that we never use it, do we, father?

LORD CAVERSHAM. I use it, sir. I use nothing else.

LORD GORING. So my mother tells me.

LORD CAVERSHAM. It is the secret of your mother's happiness. You are very heartless, sir, very heartless.

LORD GORING. I hope not, father.

[_Goes out for a moment_. _Then returns_, _looking rather put out_, _with_ SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.]

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. My dear Arthur, what a piece of good luck meeting you on the doorstep! Your servant had just told me you were not at home.

How extraordinary!

LORD GORING. The fact is, I am horribly busy to-night, Robert, and I gave orders I was not at home to any one. Even my father had a comparatively cold reception. He complained of a draught the whole time.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Ah! you must be at home to me, Arthur. You are my best friend. Perhaps by to-morrow you will be my only friend. My wife has discovered everything.

LORD GORING. Ah! I guessed as much!

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Looking at him_.] Really! How?

LORD GORING. [_After some hesitation_.] Oh, merely by something in the expression of your face as you came in. Who told her?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Mrs. Cheveley herself. And the woman I love knows that I began my career with an act of low dishonesty, that I built up my life upon sands of shame-that I sold, like a common huckster, the secret that had been intrusted to me as a man of honour. I thank heaven poor Lord Radley died without knowing that I betrayed him. I would to G.o.d I had died before I had been so horribly tempted, or had fallen so low.

[_Burying his face in his hands_.]

LORD GORING. [_After a pause_.] You have heard nothing from Vienna yet, in answer to your wire?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Looking up_.] Yes; I got a telegram from the first secretary at eight o'clock to-night.

LORD GORING. Well?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Nothing is absolutely known against her. On the contrary, she occupies a rather high position in society. It is a sort of open secret that Baron Arnheim left her the greater portion of his immense fortune. Beyond that I can learn nothing.

LORD GORING. She doesn't turn out to be a spy, then?

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Oh! spies are of no use nowadays. Their profession is over. The newspapers do their work instead.

LORD GORING. And thunderingly well they do it.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Arthur, I am parched with thirst. May I ring for something? Some hock and seltzer?

LORD GORING. Certainly. Let me. [_Rings the bell_.]

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Thanks! I don't know what to do, Arthur, I don't know what to do, and you are my only friend. But what a friend you are-the one friend I can trust. I can trust you absolutely, can't I?

[_Enter_ PHIPPS.]

LORD GORING. My dear Robert, of course. Oh! [_To_ PHIPPS.] Bring some hock and seltzer.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING. And Phipps!