Chapter II: Part 2

LORD DARLINGTON. To-morrow I leave England. This is the last time I shall ever look on you. You will never see me again. For one moment our lives met—our souls touched. They must never meet or touch again. Good-bye, Margaret. [_Exit_.]

LADY WINDERMERE. How alone I am in life! How terribly alone!

[_The music stops_. _Enter the_ DUCHESS OF BERWICK _and_ LORD PAISLEY _laughing and talking_. _Other guests come on from ball-room_.]

DUCHESS OF BERWICK. Dear Margaret, I’ve just been having such a delightful chat with Mrs. Erlynne. I am so sorry for what I said to you this afternoon about her. Of course, she must be all right if _you_ invite her. A most attractive woman, and has such sensible views on life. Told me she entirely disapproved of people marrying more than once, so I feel quite safe about poor Augustus. Can’t imagine why people speak against her. It’s those horrid nieces of mine—the Saville girls—they’re always talking scandal. Still, I should go to Homburg, dear, I really should. She is just a little too attractive. But where is Agatha? Oh, there she is: [LADY AGATHA _and_ MR. HOPPER _enter from terrace L.U.E._] Mr. Hopper, I am very, very angry with you. You have taken Agatha out on the terrace, and she is so delicate.

HOPPER. Awfully sorry, Duchess. We went out for a moment and then got chatting together.

DUCHESS OF BERWICK. [_C._] Ah, about dear Australia, I suppose?

HOPPER. Yes!

DUCHESS OF BERWICK. Agatha, darling! [_Beckons her over_.]

LADY AGATHA. Yes, mamma!

DUCHESS OF BERWICK. [_Aside_.] Did Mr. Hopper definitely—

LADY AGATHA. Yes, mamma.

DUCHESS OF BERWICK. And what answer did you give him, dear child?

LADY AGATHA. Yes, mamma.

DUCHESS OF BERWICK. [_Affectionately_.] My dear one! You always say the right thing. Mr. Hopper! James! Agatha has told me everything. How cleverly you have both kept your secret.

HOPPER. You don’t mind my taking Agatha off to Australia, then, Duchess?

DUCHESS OF BERWICK. [_Indignantly_.] To Australia? Oh, don’t mention that dreadful vulgar place.

HOPPER. But she said she’d like to come with me.

DUCHESS OF BERWICK. [_Severely_.] Did you say that, Agatha?

LADY AGATHA. Yes, mamma.

DUCHESS OF BERWICK. Agatha, you say the most silly things possible. I think on the whole that Grosvenor Square would be a more healthy place to reside in. There are lots of vulgar people live in Grosvenor Square, but at any rate there are no horrid kangaroos crawling about. But we’ll talk about that to-morrow. James, you can take Agatha down. You’ll come to lunch, of course, James. At half-past one, instead of two. The Duke will wish to say a few words to you, I am sure.

HOPPER. I should like to have a chat with the Duke, Duchess. He has not said a single word to me yet.

DUCHESS OF BERWICK. I think you’ll find he will have a great deal to say to you to-morrow. [_Exit_ LADY AGATHA _with_ MR. HOPPER.] And now good-night, Margaret. I’m afraid it’s the old, old story, dear. Love—well, not love at first sight, but love at the end of the season, which is so much more satisfactory.

LADY WINDERMERE. Good-night, Duchess.

[_Exit the_ DUCHESS OF BERWICK _on_ LORD PAISLEY’S _arm_.]

LADY PLYMDALE. My dear Margaret, what a handsome woman your husband has been dancing with! I should be quite jealous if I were you! Is she a great friend of yours?

LADY WINDERMERE. No!

LADY PLYMDALE. Really? Good-night, dear. [_Looks at_ MR. DUMBY _and exit_.]

DUMBY. Awful manners young Hopper has!

CECIL GRAHAM. Ah! Hopper is one of Nature’s gentlemen, the worst type of gentleman I know.

DUMBY. Sensible woman, Lady Windermere. Lots of wives would have objected to Mrs. Erlynne coming. But Lady Windermere has that uncommon thing called common sense.

CECIL GRAHAM. And Windermere knows that nothing looks so like innocence as an indiscretion.

DUMBY. Yes; dear Windermere is becoming almost modern. Never thought he would. [_Bows to_ LADY WINDERMERE _and exit_.]

LADY JEDBURGH. Good night, Lady Windermere. What a fascinating woman Mrs. Erlynne is! She is coming to lunch on Thursday, won’t you come too? I expect the Bishop and dear Lady Merton.

LADY WINDERMERE. I am afraid I am engaged, Lady Jedburgh.

LADY JEDBURGH. So sorry. Come, dear. [_Exeunt_ LADY JEDBURGH _and_ MISS GRAHAM.]

[_Enter_ MRS. ERLYNNE _and_ LORD WINDERMERE.]

MRS. ERLYNNE. Charming ball it has been! Quite reminds me of old days. [_Sits on sofa_.] And I see that there are just as many fools in society as there used to be. So pleased to find that nothing has altered! Except Margaret. She’s grown quite pretty. The last time I saw her—twenty years ago, she was a fright in flannel. Positive fright, I assure you. The dear Duchess! and that sweet Lady Agatha! Just the type of girl I like! Well, really, Windermere, if I am to be the Duchess’s sister-in-law—

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Sitting L. of her_.] But are you—?

[_Exit_ MR. CECIL GRAHAM _with rest of guests_. LADY WINDERMERE _watches_, _with a look of scorn and pain_, MRS. ERLYNNE _and her husband_. _They are unconscious of her presence_.]

MRS. ERLYNNE. Oh, yes! He’s to call to-morrow at twelve o’clock! He wanted to propose to-night. In fact he did. He kept on proposing. Poor Augustus, you know how he repeats himself. Such a bad habit! But I told him I wouldn’t give him an answer till to-morrow. Of course I am going to take him. And I dare say I’ll make him an admirable wife, as wives go. And there is a great deal of good in Lord Augustus. Fortunately it is all on the surface. Just where good qualities should be. Of course you must help me in this matter.

LORD WINDERMERE. I am not called on to encourage Lord Augustus, I suppose?

MRS. ERLYNNE. Oh, no! I do the encouraging. But you will make me a handsome settlement, Windermere, won’t you?

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Frowning_.] Is that what you want to talk to me about to-night?

MRS. ERLYNNE. Yes.

LORD WINDERMERE. [_With a gesture of impatience_.] I will not talk of it here.

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Laughing_.] Then we will talk of it on the terrace. Even business should have a picturesque background. Should it not, Windermere? With a proper background women can do anything.

LORD WINDERMERE. Won’t to-morrow do as well?

MRS. ERLYNNE. No; you see, to-morrow I am going to accept him. And I think it would be a good thing if I was able to tell him that I had—well, what shall I say?—£2000 a year left to me by a third cousin—or a second husband—or some distant relative of that kind. It would be an additional attraction, wouldn’t it? You have a delightful opportunity now of paying me a compliment, Windermere. But you are not very clever at paying compliments. I am afraid Margaret doesn’t encourage you in that excellent habit. It’s a great mistake on her part. When men give up saying what is charming, they give up thinking what is charming. But seriously, what do you say to £2000? £2500, I think. In modern life margin is everything. Windermere, don’t you think the world an intensely amusing place? I do!

[_Exit on terrace with_ LORD WINDERMERE. Music strikes up in ball-room.]

LADY WINDERMERE. To stay in this house any longer is impossible. To-night a man who loves me offered me his whole life. I refused it. It was foolish of me. I will offer him mine now. I will give him mine. I will go to him! [_Puts on cloak and goes to the door_, _then turns back_. _Sits down at table and writes a letter_, _puts it into an envelope_, _and leaves it on table_.] Arthur has never understood me. When he reads this, he will. He may do as he chooses now with his life. I have done with mine as I think best, as I think right. It is he who has broken the bond of marriage—not I. I only break its bondage.

[_Exit_.]

[_PARKER enters L. and crosses towards the ball-room R._ _Enter_ MRS. ERLYNNE.]

MRS. ERLYNNE. Is Lady Windermere in the ball-room?

PARKER. Her ladyship has just gone out.

MRS. ERLYNNE. Gone out? She’s not on the terrace?

PARKER. No, madam. Her ladyship has just gone out of the house.

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Starts_, _and looks at the servant with a puzzled expression in her face_.] Out of the house?

PARKER. Yes, madam—her ladyship told me she had left a letter for his lordship on the table.

MRS. ERLYNNE. A letter for Lord Windermere?

PARKER. Yes, madam.

MRS. ERLYNNE. Thank you.

[_Exit_ PARKER. _The music in the ball-room stops_.] Gone out of her house! A letter addressed to her husband! [_Goes over to bureau and looks at letter_. _Takes it up and lays it down again with a shudder of fear_.] No, no! It would be impossible! Life doesn’t repeat its tragedies like that! Oh, why does this horrible fancy come across me? Why do I remember now the one moment of my life I most wish to forget? Does life repeat its tragedies? [_Tears letter open and reads it_, _then sinks down into a chair with a gesture of anguish_.] Oh, how terrible! The same words that twenty years ago I wrote to her father! and how bitterly I have been punished for it! No; my punishment, my real punishment is to-night, is now! [_Still seated R._]

[_Enter_ LORD WINDERMERE _L.U.E._]

LORD WINDERMERE. Have you said good-night to my wife? [_Comes C._]

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Crushing letter in her hand_.] Yes.

LORD WINDERMERE. Where is she?

MRS. ERLYNNE. She is very tired. She has gone to bed. She said she had a headache.

LORD WINDERMERE. I must go to her. You’ll excuse me?

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Rising hurriedly_.] Oh, no! It’s nothing serious. She’s only very tired, that is all. Besides, there are people still in the supper-room. She wants you to make her apologies to them. She said she didn’t wish to be disturbed. [_Drops letter_.] She asked me to tell you!

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Picks up letter_.] You have dropped something.

MRS. ERLYNNE. Oh yes, thank you, that is mine. [_Puts out her hand to take it_.]

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Still looking at letter_.] But it’s my wife’s handwriting, isn’t it?

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Takes the letter quickly_.] Yes, it’s—an address. Will you ask them to call my carriage, please?

LORD WINDERMERE. Certainly.

[_Goes L. and Exit_.]

MRS. ERLYNNE. Thanks! What can I do? What can I do? I feel a passion awakening within me that I never felt before. What can it mean? The daughter must not be like the mother—that would be terrible. How can I save her? How can I save my child? A moment may ruin a life. Who knows that better than I? Windermere must be got out of the house; that is absolutely necessary. [_Goes L._] But how shall I do it? It must be done somehow. Ah!

[_Enter_ LORD AUGUSTUS _R.U.E. carrying bouquet_.]

LORD AUGUSTUS. Dear lady, I am in such suspense! May I not have an answer to my request?

MRS. ERLYNNE. Lord Augustus, listen to me. You are to take Lord Windermere down to your club at once, and keep him there as long as possible. You understand?

LORD AUGUSTUS. But you said you wished me to keep early hours!

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Nervously_.] Do what I tell you. Do what I tell you.

LORD AUGUSTUS. And my reward?

MRS. ERLYNNE. Your reward? Your reward? Oh! ask me that to-morrow. But don’t let Windermere out of your sight to-night. If you do I will never forgive you. I will never speak to you again. I’ll have nothing to do with you. Remember you are to keep Windermere at your club, and don’t let him come back to-night.

[_Exit L._]

LORD AUGUSTUS. Well, really, I might be her husband already. Positively I might. [_Follows her in a bewildered manner_.]

* * * * *

ACT DROP.

THIRD ACT

SCENE

_Lord Darlington’s Rooms_. _A large sofa is in front of fireplace R._ _At the back of the stage a curtain is drawn across the window_. _Doors L. and R._ _Table R. with writing materials. Table C. with syphons, glasses, and Tantalus frame_. _Table L. with cigar and cigarette box. Lamps lit_.

LADY WINDERMERE. [_Standing by the fireplace_.] Why doesn’t he come? This waiting is horrible. He should be here. Why is he not here, to wake by passionate words some fire within me? I am cold—cold as a loveless thing. Arthur must have read my letter by this time. If he cared for me, he would have come after me, would have taken me back by force. But he doesn’t care. He’s entrammelled by this woman—fascinated by her—dominated by her. If a woman wants to hold a man, she has merely to appeal to what is worst in him. We make gods of men and they leave us. Others make brutes of them and they fawn and are faithful. How hideous life is! . . . Oh! it was mad of me to come here, horribly mad. And yet, which is the worst, I wonder, to be at the mercy of a man who loves one, or the wife of a man who in one’s own house dishonours one? What woman knows? What woman in the whole world? But will he love me always, this man to whom I am giving my life? What do I bring him? Lips that have lost the note of joy, eyes that are blinded by tears, chill hands and icy heart. I bring him nothing. I must go back—no; I can’t go back, my letter has put me in their power—Arthur would not take me back! That fatal letter! No! Lord Darlington leaves England to-morrow. I will go with him—I have no choice. [_Sits down for a few moments_. _Then starts up and puts on her cloak_.] No, no! I will go back, let Arthur do with me what he pleases. I can’t wait here. It has been madness my coming. I must go at once. As for Lord Darlington—Oh! here he is! What shall I do? What can I say to him? Will he let me go away at all? I have heard that men are brutal, horrible . . . Oh! [_Hides her face in her hands_.]

[_Enter_ MRS. ERLYNNE _L._]

MRS. ERLYNNE. Lady Windermere! [LADY WINDERMERE _starts and looks up_. _Then recoils in contempt_.] Thank Heaven I am in time. You must go back to your husband’s house immediately.

LADY WINDERMERE. Must?

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Authoritatively_.] Yes, you must! There is not a second to be lost. Lord Darlington may return at any moment.

LADY WINDERMERE. Don’t come near me!

MRS. ERLYNNE. Oh! You are on the brink of ruin, you are on the brink of a hideous precipice. You must leave this place at once, my carriage is waiting at the corner of the street. You must come with me and drive straight home.

[LADY WINDERMERE _throws off her cloak and flings it on the sofa_.]

What are you doing?

LADY WINDERMERE. Mrs. Erlynne—if you had not come here, I would have gone back. But now that I see you, I feel that nothing in the whole world would induce me to live under the same roof as Lord Windermere. You fill me with horror. There is something about you that stirs the wildest—rage within me. And I know why you are here. My husband sent you to lure me back that I might serve as a blind to whatever relations exist between you and him.

MRS. ERLYNNE. Oh! You don’t think that—you can’t.

LADY WINDERMERE. Go back to my husband, Mrs. Erlynne. He belongs to you and not to me. I suppose he is afraid of a scandal. Men are such cowards. They outrage every law of the world, and are afraid of the world’s tongue. But he had better prepare himself. He shall have a scandal. He shall have the worst scandal there has been in London for years. He shall see his name in every vile paper, mine on every hideous placard.

MRS. ERLYNNE. No—no—

LADY WINDERMERE. Yes! he shall. Had he come himself, I admit I would have gone back to the life of degradation you and he had prepared for me—I was going back—but to stay himself at home, and to send you as his messenger—oh! it was infamous—infamous.

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_C._] Lady Windermere, you wrong me horribly—you wrong your husband horribly. He doesn’t know you are here—he thinks you are safe in your own house. He thinks you are asleep in your own room. He never read the mad letter you wrote to him!

LADY WINDERMERE. [_R._] Never read it!

MRS. ERLYNNE. No—he knows nothing about it.

LADY WINDERMERE. How simple you think me! [_Going to her_.] You are lying to me!

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Restraining herself_.] I am not. I am telling you the truth.

LADY WINDERMERE. If my husband didn’t read my letter, how is it that you are here? Who told you I had left the house you were shameless enough to enter? Who told you where I had gone to? My husband told you, and sent you to decoy me back. [_Crosses L._]

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_R.C._] Your husband has never seen the letter. I—saw it, I opened it. I—read it.

LADY WINDERMERE. [_Turning to her_.] You opened a letter of mine to my husband? You wouldn’t dare!

MRS. ERLYNNE. Dare! Oh! to save you from the abyss into which you are falling, there is nothing in the world I would not dare, nothing in the whole world. Here is the letter. Your husband has never read it. He never shall read it. [_Going to fireplace_.] It should never have been written. [_Tears it and throws it into the fire_.]

LADY WINDERMERE. [_With infinite contempt in her voice and look_.] How do I know that that was my letter after all? You seem to think the commonest device can take me in!

MRS. ERLYNNE. Oh! why do you disbelieve everything I tell you? What object do you think I have in coming here, except to save you from utter ruin, to save you from the consequence of a hideous mistake? That letter that is burnt now _was_ your letter. I swear it to you!

LADY WINDERMERE. [_Slowly_.] You took good care to burn it before I had examined it. I cannot trust you. You, whose whole life is a lie, could you speak the truth about anything? [_Sits down_.]

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Hurriedly_.] Think as you like about me—say what you choose against me, but go back, go back to the husband you love.

LADY WINDERMERE. [_Sullenly_.] I do _not_ love him!

MRS. ERLYNNE. You do, and you know that he loves you.

LADY WINDERMERE. He does not understand what love is. He understands it as little as you do—but I see what you want. It would be a great advantage for you to get me back. Dear Heaven! what a life I would have then! Living at the mercy of a woman who has neither mercy nor pity in her, a woman whom it is an infamy to meet, a degradation to know, a vile woman, a woman who comes between husband and wife!

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_With a gesture of despair_.] Lady Windermere, Lady Windermere, don’t say such terrible things. You don’t know how terrible they are, how terrible and how unjust. Listen, you must listen! Only go back to your husband, and I promise you never to communicate with him again on any pretext—never to see him—never to have anything to do with his life or yours. The money that he gave me, he gave me not through love, but through hatred, not in worship, but in contempt. The hold I have over him—

LADY WINDERMERE. [_Rising_.] Ah! you admit you have a hold!

MRS. ERLYNNE. Yes, and I will tell you what it is. It is his love for you, Lady Windermere.

LADY WINDERMERE. You expect me to believe that?

MRS. ERLYNNE. You must believe it! It is true. It is his love for you that has made him submit to—oh! call it what you like, tyranny, threats, anything you choose. But it is his love for you. His desire to spare you—shame, yes, shame and disgrace.

LADY WINDERMERE. What do you mean? You are insolent! What have I to do with you?

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Humbly_.] Nothing. I know it—but I tell you that your husband loves you—that you may never meet with such love again in your whole life—that such love you will never meet—and that if you throw it away, the day may come when you will starve for love and it will not be given to you, beg for love and it will be denied you—Oh! Arthur loves you!

LADY WINDERMERE. Arthur? And you tell me there is nothing between you?

MRS. ERLYNNE. Lady Windermere, before Heaven your husband is guiltless of all offence towards you! And I—I tell you that had it ever occurred to me that such a monstrous suspicion would have entered your mind, I would have died rather than have crossed your life or his—oh! died, gladly died! [_Moves away to sofa R._]

LADY WINDERMERE. You talk as if you had a heart. Women like you have no hearts. Heart is not in you. You are bought and sold. [_Sits L.C._]

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Starts_, _with a gesture of pain_. _Then restrains herself_, _and comes over to where_ LADY WINDERMERE _is sitting_. _As she speaks_, _she stretches out her hands towards her_, _but does not dare to touch her_.] Believe what you choose about me. I am not worth a moment’s sorrow. But don’t spoil your beautiful young life on my account! You don’t know what may be in store for you, unless you leave this house at once. You don’t know what it is to fall into the pit, to be despised, mocked, abandoned, sneered at—to be an outcast! to find the door shut against one, to have to creep in by hideous byways, afraid every moment lest the mask should be stripped from one’s face, and all the while to hear the laughter, the horrible laughter of the world, a thing more tragic than all the tears the world has ever shed. You don’t know what it is. One pays for one’s sin, and then one pays again, and all one’s life one pays. You must never know that.—As for me, if suffering be an expiation, then at this moment I have expiated all my faults, whatever they have been; for to-night you have made a heart in one who had it not, made it and broken it.—But let that pass. I may have wrecked my own life, but I will not let you wreck yours. You—why, you are a mere girl, you would be lost. You haven’t got the kind of brains that enables a woman to get back. You have neither the wit nor the courage. You couldn’t stand dishonour! No! Go back, Lady Windermere, to the husband who loves you, whom you love. You have a child, Lady Windermere. Go back to that child who even now, in pain or in joy, may be calling to you. [LADY WINDERMERE _rises_.] God gave you that child. He will require from you that you make his life fine, that you watch over him. What answer will you make to God if his life is ruined through you? Back to your house, Lady Windermere—your husband loves you! He has never swerved for a moment from the love he bears you. But even if he had a thousand loves, you must stay with your child. If he was harsh to you, you must stay with your child. If he ill-treated you, you must stay with your child. If he abandoned you, your place is with your child.

[LADY WINDERMERE _bursts into tears and buries her face in her hands_.]

[_Rushing to her_.] Lady Windermere!

LADY WINDERMERE. [_Holding out her hands to her_, _helplessly_, _as a child might do_.] Take me home. Take me home.

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Is about to embrace her_. _Then restrains herself_. _There is a look of wonderful joy in her face_.] Come! Where is your cloak? [_Getting it from sofa_.] Here. Put it on. Come at once!

[_They go to the door_.]

LADY WINDERMERE. Stop! Don’t you hear voices?

MRS. ERLYNNE. No, no! There was no one!

LADY WINDERMERE. Yes, there is! Listen! Oh! that is my husband’s voice! He is coming in! Save me! Oh, it’s some plot! You have sent for him.

[_Voices outside_.]

MRS. ERLYNNE. Silence! I’m here to save you, if I can. But I fear it is too late! There! [_Points to the curtain across the window_.] The first chance you have, slip out, if you ever get a chance!

LADY WINDERMERE. But you?

MRS. ERLYNNE. Oh! never mind me. I’ll face them.

[LADY WINDERMERE _hides herself behind the curtain_.]

LORD AUGUSTUS. [_Outside_.] Nonsense, dear Windermere, you must not leave me!

MRS. ERLYNNE. Lord Augustus! Then it is I who am lost! [_Hesitates for a moment_, then _looks round and sees door R._, _and exits through it_.]

[_Enter_ LORD DARLINGTON, MR. DUMBY, LORD WINDERMERE, LORD AUGUSTUS LORTON, _and_ MR. CECIL GRAHAM.

DUMBY. What a nuisance their turning us out of the club at this hour! It’s only two o’clock. [_Sinks into a chair_.] The lively part of the evening is only just beginning. [_Yawns and closes his eyes_.]

LORD WINDERMERE. It is very good of you, Lord Darlington, allowing Augustus to force our company on you, but I’m afraid I can’t stay long.

LORD DARLINGTON. Really! I am so sorry! You’ll take a cigar, won’t you?

LORD WINDERMERE. Thanks! [_Sits down_.]

LORD AUGUSTUS. [_To_ LORD WINDERMERE.] My dear boy, you must not dream of going. I have a great deal to talk to you about, of demmed importance, too. [_Sits down with him at L. table_.]

CECIL GRAHAM. Oh! We all know what that is! Tuppy can’t talk about anything but Mrs. Erlynne.

LORD WINDERMERE. Well, that is no business of yours, is it, Cecil?

CECIL GRAHAM. None! That is why it interests me. My own business always bores me to death. I prefer other people’s.

LORD DARLINGTON. Have something to drink, you fellows. Cecil, you’ll have a whisky and soda?

CECIL GRAHAM. Thanks. [_Goes to table with_ LORD DARLINGTON.] Mrs. Erlynne looked very handsome to-night, didn’t she?

LORD DARLINGTON. I am not one of her admirers.

CECIL GRAHAM. I usen’t to be, but I am now. Why! she actually made me introduce her to poor dear Aunt Caroline. I believe she is going to lunch there.

LORD DARLINGTON. [_In Purple_.] No?

CECIL GRAHAM. She is, really.

LORD DARLINGTON. Excuse me, you fellows. I’m going away to-morrow. And I have to write a few letters. [_Goes to writing table and sits down_.]

DUMBY. Clever woman, Mrs. Erlynne.

CECIL GRAHAM. Hallo, Dumby! I thought you were asleep.

DUMBY. I am, I usually am!

LORD AUGUSTUS. A very clever woman. Knows perfectly well what a demmed fool I am—knows it as well as I do myself.

[CECIL GRAHAM _comes towards him laughing_.]

Ah, you may laugh, my boy, but it is a great thing to come across a woman who thoroughly understands one.

DUMBY. It is an awfully dangerous thing. They always end by marrying one.

CECIL GRAHAM. But I thought, Tuppy, you were never going to see her again! Yes! you told me so yesterday evening at the club. You said you’d heard—

[_Whispering to him_.]

LORD AUGUSTUS. Oh, she’s explained that.

CECIL GRAHAM. And the Wiesbaden affair?

LORD AUGUSTUS. She’s explained that too.

DUMBY. And her income, Tuppy? Has she explained that?

LORD AUGUSTUS. [_In a very serious voice_.] She’s going to explain that to-morrow.

[CECIL GRAHAM _goes back to C. table_.]

DUMBY. Awfully commercial, women nowadays. Our grandmothers threw their caps over the mills, of course, but, by Jove, their granddaughters only throw their caps over mills that can raise the wind for them.

LORD AUGUSTUS. You want to make her out a wicked woman. She is not!

CECIL GRAHAM. Oh! Wicked women bother one. Good women bore one. That is the only difference between them.

LORD AUGUSTUS. [_Puffing a cigar_.] Mrs. Erlynne has a future before her.

DUMBY. Mrs. Erlynne has a past before her.

LORD AUGUSTUS. I prefer women with a past. They’re always so demmed amusing to talk to.

CECIL GRAHAM. Well, you’ll have lots of topics of conversation with _her_, Tuppy. [_Rising and going to him_.]

LORD AUGUSTUS. You’re getting annoying, dear-boy; you’re getting demmed annoying.

CECIL GRAHAM. [_Puts his hands on his shoulders_.] Now, Tuppy, you’ve lost your figure and you’ve lost your character. Don’t lose your temper; you have only got one.

LORD AUGUSTUS. My dear boy, if I wasn’t the most good-natured man in London—

CECIL GRAHAM. We’d treat you with more respect, wouldn’t we, Tuppy? [_Strolls away_.]

DUMBY. The youth of the present day are quite monstrous. They have absolutely no respect for dyed hair. [LORD AUGUSTUS _looks round angrily_.]

CECIL GRAHAM. Mrs. Erlynne has a very great respect for dear Tuppy.

DUMBY. Then Mrs. Erlynne sets an admirable example to the rest of her sex. It is perfectly brutal the way most women nowadays behave to men who are not their husbands.

LORD WINDERMERE. Dumby, you are ridiculous, and Cecil, you let your tongue run away with you. You must leave Mrs. Erlynne alone. You don’t really know anything about her, and you’re always talking scandal against her.

CECIL GRAHAM. [_Coming towards him L.C._] My dear Arthur, I never talk scandal. _I_ only talk gossip.

LORD WINDERMERE. What is the difference between scandal and gossip?

CECIL GRAHAM. Oh! gossip is charming! History is merely gossip. But scandal is gossip made tedious by morality. Now, I never moralise. A man who moralises is usually a hypocrite, and a woman who moralises is invariably plain. There is nothing in the whole world so unbecoming to a woman as a Nonconformist conscience. And most women know it, I’m glad to say.

LORD AUGUSTUS. Just my sentiments, dear boy, just my sentiments.

CECIL GRAHAM. Sorry to hear it, Tuppy; whenever people agree with me, I always feel I must be wrong.

LORD AUGUSTUS. My dear boy, when I was your age—

CECIL GRAHAM. But you never were, Tuppy, and you never will be. [_Goes up C._] I say, Darlington, let us have some cards. You’ll play, Arthur, won’t you?

LORD WINDERMERE. No, thanks, Cecil.

DUMBY. [_With a sigh_.] Good heavens! how marriage ruins a man! It’s as demoralising as cigarettes, and far more expensive.

CECIL GRAHAM. You’ll play, of course, Tuppy?

LORD AUGUSTUS. [_Pouring himself out a brandy and soda at table_.] Can’t, dear boy. Promised Mrs. Erlynne never to play or drink again.

CECIL GRAHAM. Now, my dear Tuppy, don’t be led astray into the paths of virtue. Reformed, you would be perfectly tedious. That is the worst of women. They always want one to be good. And if we are good, when they meet us, they don’t love us at all. They like to find us quite irretrievably bad, and to leave us quite unattractively good.

LORD DARLINGTON. [_Rising from R. table_, _where he has been writing letters_.] They always do find us bad!

DUMBY. I don’t think we are bad. I think we are all good, except Tuppy.

LORD DARLINGTON. No, we are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. [_Sits down at C. table_.]

DUMBY. We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars? Upon my word, you are very romantic to-night, Darlington.

CECIL GRAHAM. Too romantic! You must be in love. Who is the girl?

LORD DARLINGTON. The woman I love is not free, or thinks she isn’t. [_Glances instinctively at_ LORD WINDERMERE _while he speaks_.]

CECIL GRAHAM. A married woman, then! Well, there’s nothing in the world like the devotion of a married woman. It’s a thing no married man knows anything about.

LORD DARLINGTON. Oh! she doesn’t love me. She is a good woman. She is the only good woman I have ever met in my life.

CECIL GRAHAM. The only good woman you have ever met in your life?

LORD DARLINGTON. Yes!

CECIL GRAHAM. [_Lighting a cigarette_.] Well, you are a lucky fellow! Why, I have met hundreds of good women. I never seem to meet any but good women. The world is perfectly packed with good women. To know them is a middle-class education.

LORD DARLINGTON. This woman has purity and innocence. She has everything we men have lost.

CECIL GRAHAM. My dear fellow, what on earth should we men do going about with purity and innocence? A carefully thought-out buttonhole is much more effective.

DUMBY. She doesn’t really love you then?

LORD DARLINGTON. No, she does not!

DUMBY. I congratulate you, my dear fellow. In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. The last is much the worst; the last is a real tragedy! But I am interested to hear she does not love you. How long could you love a woman who didn’t love you, Cecil?

CECIL GRAHAM. A woman who didn’t love me? Oh, all my life!

DUMBY. So could I. But it’s so difficult to meet one.

LORD DARLINGTON. How can you be so conceited, DUMBY?

DUMBY. I didn’t say it as a matter of conceit. I said it as a matter of regret. I have been wildly, madly adored. I am sorry I have. It has been an immense nuisance. I should like to be allowed a little time to myself now and then.

LORD AUGUSTUS. [_Looking round_.] Time to educate yourself, I suppose.

DUMBY. No, time to forget all I have learned. That is much more important, dear Tuppy. [LORD AUGUSTUS _moves uneasily in his chair_.]

LORD DARLINGTON. What cynics you fellows are!

CECIL GRAHAM. What is a cynic? [_Sitting on the back of the sofa_.]

LORD DARLINGTON. A man who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.

CECIL GRAHAM. And a sentimentalist, my dear Darlington, is a man who sees an absurd value in everything, and doesn’t know the market price of any single thing.

LORD DARLINGTON. You always amuse me, Cecil. You talk as if you were a man of experience.

CECIL GRAHAM. I am. [_Moves up to front off fireplace_.]

LORD DARLINGTON. You are far too young!

CECIL GRAHAM. That is a great error. Experience is a question of instinct about life. I have got it. Tuppy hasn’t. Experience is the name Tuppy gives to his mistakes. That is all. [LORD AUGUSTUS _looks round indignantly_.]

DUMBY. Experience is the name every one gives to their mistakes.

CECIL GRAHAM. [_Standing with his back to the fireplace_.] One shouldn’t commit any. [_Sees_ LADY WINDERMERE’S _fan on sofa_.]

DUMBY. Life would be very dull without them.

CECIL GRAHAM. Of course you are quite faithful to this woman you are in love with, Darlington, to this good woman?

LORD DARLINGTON. Cecil, if one really loves a woman, all other women in the world become absolutely meaningless to one. Love changes one—_I_ am changed.

CECIL GRAHAM. Dear me! How very interesting! Tuppy, I want to talk to you. [LORD AUGUSTUS _takes no notice_.]

DUMBY. It’s no use talking to Tuppy. You might just as well talk to a brick wall.

CECIL GRAHAM. But I like talking to a brick wall—it’s the only thing in the world that never contradicts me! Tuppy!

LORD AUGUSTUS. Well, what is it? What is it? [_Rising and going over to_ CECIL GRAHAM.]

CECIL GRAHAM. Come over here. I want you particularly. [_Aside_.] Darlington has been moralising and talking about the purity of love, and that sort of thing, and he has got some woman in his rooms all the time.

LORD AUGUSTUS. No, really! really!

CECIL GRAHAM. [_In a low voice_.] Yes, here is her fan. [_Points to the fan_.]

LORD AUGUSTUS. [_Chuckling_.] By Jove! By Jove!

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Up by door_.] I am really off now, Lord Darlington. I am sorry you are leaving England so soon. Pray call on us when you come back! My wife and I will be charmed to see you!

LORD DARLINGTON. [_Upstage with_ LORD WINDERMERE.] I am afraid I shall be away for many years. Good-night!

CECIL GRAHAM. Arthur!

LORD WINDERMERE. What?

CECIL GRAHAM. I want to speak to you for a moment. No, do come!

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Putting on his coat_.] I can’t—I’m off!

CECIL GRAHAM. It is something very particular. It will interest you enormously.

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Smiling_.] It is some of your nonsense, Cecil.

CECIL GRAHAM. It isn’t! It isn’t really.

LORD AUGUSTUS. [_Going to him_.] My dear fellow, you mustn’t go yet. I have a lot to talk to you about. And Cecil has something to show you.

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Walking over_.] Well, what is it?

CECIL GRAHAM. Darlington has got a woman here in his rooms. Here is her fan. Amusing, isn’t it? [_A pause_.]

LORD WINDERMERE. Good God! [_Seizes the fan_—DUMBY _rises_.]

CECIL GRAHAM. What is the matter?

LORD WINDERMERE. Lord Darlington!

LORD DARLINGTON. [_Turning round_.] Yes!

LORD WINDERMERE. What is my wife’s fan doing here in your rooms? Hands off, Cecil. Don’t touch me.

LORD DARLINGTON. Your wife’s fan?

LORD WINDERMERE. Yes, here it is!

LORD DARLINGTON. [_Walking towards him_.] I don’t know!

LORD WINDERMERE. You must know. I demand an explanation. Don’t hold me, you fool. [_To_ CECIL GRAHAM.]

LORD DARLINGTON. [_Aside_.] She is here after all!

LORD WINDERMERE. Speak, sir! Why is my wife’s fan here? Answer me! By God! I’ll search your rooms, and if my wife’s here, I’ll— [_Moves_.]

LORD DARLINGTON. You shall not search my rooms. You have no right to do so. I forbid you!

LORD WINDERMERE. You scoundrel! I’ll not leave your room till I have searched every corner of it! What moves behind that curtain? [_Rushes towards the curtain C._]

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Enters behind R._] Lord Windermere!

LORD WINDERMERE. Mrs. Erlynne!

[_Every one starts and turns round_. LADY WINDERMERE _slips out from behind the curtain and glides from the room L._]

MRS. ERLYNNE. I am afraid I took your wife’s fan in mistake for my own, when I was leaving your house to-night. I am so sorry. [_Takes fan from him_. LORD WINDERMERE _looks at her in contempt_. LORD DARLINGTON _in mingled astonishment and anger_. LORD AUGUSTUS _turns away_. _The other men smile at each other_.]

ACT DROP.

FOURTH ACT

SCENE—Same as in Act I.

LADY WINDERMERE. [_Lying on sofa_.] How can I tell him? I can’t tell him. It would kill me. I wonder what happened after I escaped from that horrible room. Perhaps she told them the true reason of her being there, and the real meaning of that—fatal fan of mine. Oh, if he knows—how can I look him in the face again? He would never forgive me. [_Touches bell_.] How securely one thinks one lives—out of reach of temptation, sin, folly. And then suddenly—Oh! Life is terrible. It rules us, we do not rule it.

[_Enter_ ROSALIE _R._]

ROSALIE. Did your ladyship ring for me?

LADY WINDERMERE. Yes. Have you found out at what time Lord Windermere came in last night?

ROSALIE. His lordship did not come in till five o’clock.

LADY WINDERMERE. Five o’clock? He knocked at my door this morning, didn’t he?

ROSALIE. Yes, my lady—at half-past nine. I told him your ladyship was not awake yet.

LADY WINDERMERE. Did he say anything?

ROSALIE. Something about your ladyship’s fan. I didn’t quite catch what his lordship said. Has the fan been lost, my lady? I can’t find it, and Parker says it was not left in any of the rooms. He has looked in all of them and on the terrace as well.

LADY WINDERMERE. It doesn’t matter. Tell Parker not to trouble. That will do.

[_Exit_ ROSALIE.]

LADY WINDERMERE. [_Rising_.] She is sure to tell him. I can fancy a person doing a wonderful act of self-sacrifice, doing it spontaneously, recklessly, nobly—and afterwards finding out that it costs too much. Why should she hesitate between her ruin and mine? . . . How strange! I would have publicly disgraced her in my own house. She accepts public disgrace in the house of another to save me. . . . There is a bitter irony in things, a bitter irony in the way we talk of good and bad women. . . . Oh, what a lesson! and what a pity that in life we only get our lessons when they are of no use to us! For even if she doesn’t tell, I must. Oh! the shame of it, the shame of it. To tell it is to live through it all again. Actions are the first tragedy in life, words are the second. Words are perhaps the worst. Words are merciless. . . . Oh! [_Starts as_ LORD WINDERMERE _enters_.]

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Kisses her_.] Margaret—how pale you look!

LADY WINDERMERE. I slept very badly.

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Sitting on sofa with her_.] I am so sorry. I came in dreadfully late, and didn’t like to wake you. You are crying, dear.

LADY WINDERMERE. Yes, I am crying, for I have something to tell you, Arthur.

LORD WINDERMERE. My dear child, you are not well. You’ve been doing too much. Let us go away to the country. You’ll be all right at Selby. The season is almost over. There is no use staying on. Poor darling! We’ll go away to-day, if you like. [_Rises_.] We can easily catch the 3.40. I’ll send a wire to Fannen. [_Crosses and sits down at table to write a telegram_.]

LADY WINDERMERE. Yes; let us go away to-day. No; I can’t go to-day, Arthur. There is some one I must see before I leave town—some one who has been kind to me.

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Rising and leaning over sofa_.] Kind to you?

LADY WINDERMERE. Far more than that. [_Rises and goes to him_.] I will tell you, Arthur, but only love me, love me as you used to love me.

LORD WINDERMERE. Used to? You are not thinking of that wretched woman who came here last night? [_Coming round and sitting R. of her_.] You don’t still imagine—no, you couldn’t.

LADY WINDERMERE. I don’t. I know now I was wrong and foolish.

LORD WINDERMERE. It was very good of you to receive her last night—but you are never to see her again.

LADY WINDERMERE. Why do you say that? [_A pause_.]

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Holding her hand_.] Margaret, I thought Mrs. Erlynne was a woman more sinned against than sinning, as the phrase goes. I thought she wanted to be good, to get back into a place that she had lost by a moment’s folly, to lead again a decent life. I believed what she told me—I was mistaken in her. She is bad—as bad as a woman can be.

LADY WINDERMERE. Arthur, Arthur, don’t talk so bitterly about any woman. I don’t think now that people can be divided into the good and the bad as though they were two separate races or creations. What are called good women may have terrible things in them, mad moods of recklessness, assertion, jealousy, sin. Bad women, as they are termed, may have in them sorrow, repentance, pity, sacrifice. And I don’t think Mrs. Erlynne a bad woman—I know she’s not.

LORD WINDERMERE. My dear child, the woman’s impossible. No matter what harm she tries to do us, you must never see her again. She is inadmissible anywhere.

LADY WINDERMERE. But I want to see her. I want her to come here.

LORD WINDERMERE. Never!

LADY WINDERMERE. She came here once as _your_ guest. She must come now as _mine_. That is but fair.

LORD WINDERMERE. She should never have come here.

LADY WINDERMERE. [_Rising_.] It is too late, Arthur, to say that now. [_Moves away_.]

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Rising_.] Margaret, if you knew where Mrs. Erlynne went last night, after she left this house, you would not sit in the same room with her. It was absolutely shameless, the whole thing.

LADY WINDERMERE. Arthur, I can’t bear it any longer. I must tell you. Last night—

[_Enter_ PARKER _with a tray on which lie_ LADY WINDERMERE’S _fan and a card_.]

PARKER. Mrs. Erlynne has called to return your ladyship’s fan which she took away by mistake last night. Mrs. Erlynne has written a message on the card.

LADY WINDERMERE. Oh, ask Mrs. Erlynne to be kind enough to come up. [_Reads card_.] Say I shall be very glad to see her.

[_Exit_ PARKER.]

She wants to see me, Arthur.

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Takes card and looks at it_.] Margaret, I _beg_ you not to. Let me see her first, at any rate. She’s a very dangerous woman. She is the most dangerous woman I know. You don’t realise what you’re doing.

LADY WINDERMERE. It is right that I should see her.

LORD WINDERMERE. My child, you may be on the brink of a great sorrow. Don’t go to meet it. It is absolutely necessary that I should see her before you do.

LADY WINDERMERE. Why should it be necessary?

[_Enter_ PARKER.]

PARKER. Mrs. Erlynne.

[_Enter_ MRS. ERLYNNE.]

[_Exit_ PARKER.]

MRS. ERLYNNE. How do you do, Lady Windermere? [_To_ LORD WINDERMERE.] How do you do? Do you know, Lady Windermere, I am so sorry about your fan. I can’t imagine how I made such a silly mistake. Most stupid of me. And as I was driving in your direction, I thought I would take the opportunity of returning your property in person with many apologies for my carelessness, and of bidding you good-bye.

LADY WINDERMERE. Good-bye? [_Moves towards sofa with_ MRS. ERLYNNE _and sits down beside her_.] Are you going away, then, Mrs. Erlynne?

MRS. ERLYNNE. Yes; I am going to live abroad again. The English climate doesn’t suit me. My—heart is affected here, and that I don’t like. I prefer living in the south. London is too full of fogs and—and serious people, Lord Windermere. Whether the fogs produce the serious people or whether the serious people produce the fogs, I don’t know, but the whole thing rather gets on my nerves, and so I’m leaving this afternoon by the Club Train.

LADY WINDERMERE. This afternoon? But I wanted so much to come and see you.

MRS. ERLYNNE. How kind of you! But I am afraid I have to go.

LADY WINDERMERE. Shall I never see you again, Mrs. Erlynne?

MRS. ERLYNNE. I am afraid not. Our lives lie too far apart. But there is a little thing I would like you to do for me. I want a photograph of you, Lady Windermere—would you give me one? You don’t know how gratified I should be.

LADY WINDERMERE. Oh, with pleasure. There is one on that table. I’ll show it to you. [_Goes across to the table_.]

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Coming up to_ MRS. ERLYNNE _and speaking in a low voice_.] It is monstrous your intruding yourself here after your conduct last night.

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_With an amused smile_.] My dear Windermere, manners before morals!

LADY WINDERMERE. [_Returning_.] I’m afraid it is very flattering—I am not so pretty as that. [_Showing photograph_.]

MRS. ERLYNNE. You are much prettier. But haven’t you got one of yourself with your little boy?

LADY WINDERMERE. I have. Would you prefer one of those?

MRS. ERLYNNE. Yes.

LADY WINDERMERE. I’ll go and get it for you, if you’ll excuse me for a moment. I have one upstairs.

MRS. ERLYNNE. So sorry, Lady Windermere, to give you so much trouble.

LADY WINDERMERE. [_Moves to door R._] No trouble at all, Mrs. Erlynne.

MRS. ERLYNNE. Thanks so much.

[_Exit_ LADY WINDERMERE _R._] You seem rather out of temper this morning, Windermere. Why should you be? Margaret and I get on charmingly together.

LORD WINDERMERE. I can’t bear to see you with her. Besides, you have not told me the truth, Mrs. Erlynne.

MRS. ERLYNNE. I have not told _her_ the truth, you mean.

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Standing C._] I sometimes wish you had. I should have been spared then the misery, the anxiety, the annoyance of the last six months. But rather than my wife should know—that the mother whom she was taught to consider as dead, the mother whom she has mourned as dead, is living—a divorced woman, going about under an assumed name, a bad woman preying upon life, as I know you now to be—rather than that, I was ready to supply you with money to pay bill after bill, extravagance after extravagance, to risk what occurred yesterday, the first quarrel I have ever had with my wife. You don’t understand what that means to me. How could you? But I tell you that the only bitter words that ever came from those sweet lips of hers were on your account, and I hate to see you next her. You sully the innocence that is in her. [_Moves L.C._] And then I used to think that with all your faults you were frank and honest. You are not.

MRS. ERLYNNE. Why do you say that?

LORD WINDERMERE. You made me get you an invitation to my wife’s ball.

MRS. ERLYNNE. For my daughter’s ball—yes.

LORD WINDERMERE. You came, and within an hour of your leaving the house you are found in a man’s rooms—you are disgraced before every one. [_Goes up stage C._]

MRS. ERLYNNE. Yes.

LORD WINDERMERE. [_Turning round on her_.] Therefore I have a right to look upon you as what you are—a worthless, vicious woman. I have the right to tell you never to enter this house, never to attempt to come near my wife—

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Coldly_.] My daughter, you mean.

LORD WINDERMERE. You have no right to claim her as your daughter. You left her, abandoned her when she was but a child in the cradle, abandoned her for your lover, who abandoned you in turn.

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Rising_.] Do you count that to his credit, Lord Windermere—or to mine?

LORD WINDERMERE. To his, now that I know you.

MRS. ERLYNNE. Take care—you had better be careful.

LORD WINDERMERE. Oh, I am not going to mince words for you. I know you thoroughly.

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Looks steadily at him_.] I question that.

LORD WINDERMERE. I _do_ know you. For twenty years of your life you lived without your child, without a thought of your child. One day you read in the papers that she had married a rich man. You saw your hideous chance. You knew that to spare her the ignominy of learning that a woman like you was her mother, I would endure anything. You began your blackmailing.

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Shrugging her shoulders_.] Don’t use ugly words, Windermere. They are vulgar. I saw my chance, it is true, and took it.

LORD WINDERMERE. Yes, you took it—and spoiled it all last night by being found out.

MRS. ERLYNNE. [_With a strange smile_.] You are quite right, I spoiled it all last night.

LORD WINDERMERE. And as for your blunder in taking my wife’s fan from here and then leaving it about in Darlington’s rooms, it is unpardonable. I can’t bear the sight of it now. I shall never let my wife use it again. The thing is soiled for me. You should have kept it and not brought it back.

MRS. ERLYNNE. I think I shall keep it. [_Goes up_.] It’s extremely pretty. [_Takes up fan_.] I shall ask Margaret to give it to me.

LORD WINDERMERE. I hope my wife will give it you.

MRS. ERLYNNE. Oh, I’m sure she will have no objection.

LORD WINDERMERE. I wish that at the same time she would give you a miniature she kisses every night before she prays—It’s the miniature of a young innocent-looking girl with beautiful _dark_ hair.

MRS. ERLYNNE. Ah, yes, I remember. How long ago that seems! [_Goes to sofa and sits down_.] It was done before I was married. Dark hair and an innocent expression were the fashion then, Windermere! [_A pause_.]

LORD WINDERMERE. What do you mean by coming here this morning? What is your object? [_Crossing L.C. and sitting_.]