re always at home on Wednesdays, and you
look so well with your star!

LORD CAVERSHAM. Never go anywhere now. Sick of London Society.
Shouldn't mind being introduced to my own tailor; he always votes on the
right side. But object strongly to being sent down to dinner with my
wife's milliner. Never could stand Lady Caversham's bonnets.

MABEL CHILTERN. Oh, I love London Society! I think it has immensely
improved. It is entirely composed now of beautiful idiots and brilliant
lunatics. Just what Society should be.

LORD CAVERSHAM. Hum! Which is Goring? Beautiful idiot, or the other
thing?

MABEL CHILTERN. [_Gravely_.] I have been obliged for the present to put
Lord Goring into a class quite by himself. But he is developing
charmingly!

LORD CAVERSHAM. Into what?

MABEL CHILTERN. [_With a little curtsey_.] I hope to let you know very
soon, Lord Caversham!

MASON. [_Announcing guests_.] Lady Markby. Mrs. Cheveley.

[_Enter_ LADY MARKBY _and_ MRS. CHEVELEY. LADY MARKBY _is a pleasant_,
_kindly_, _popular woman_, _with gray hair a la marquise and good lace_.
MRS. CHEVELEY, _who accompanies her_, _is tall and rather slight_. _Lips
very thin and highly-coloured_, _a line of scarlet on a pallid face_.
_Venetian red hair_, _aquiline nose_, _and long throat_. _Rouge
accentuates the natural paleness of her complexion_. _Gray-green eyes
that move restlessly_. _She is in heliotrope_, _with diamonds_. _She
looks rather like an orchid_, _and makes great demands on one's
curiosity_. _In all her movements she is extremely graceful_. _A work
of art_, _on the whole_, _but showing the influence of too many
schools_.]

LADY MARKBY. Good evening, dear Gertrude! So kind of you to let me
bring my friend, Mrs. Cheveley. Two such charming women should know each
other!

LADY CHILTERN. [_Advances towards_ MRS. CHEVELEY _with a sweet smile_.
_Then suddenly stops_, _and bows rather distantly_.] I think Mrs.
Cheveley and I have met before. I did not know she had married a second
time.

LADY MARKBY. [_Genially_.] Ah, nowadays people marry as often as they
can, don't they? It is most fashionable. [_To_ DUCHESS OF MARYBOROUGH.]
Dear Duchess, and how is the Duke? Brain still weak, I suppose? Well,
that is only to be expected, is it not? His good father was just the
same. There is nothing like race, is there?

MRS. CHEVELEY. [_Playing with her fan_.] But have we really met before,
Lady Chiltern?