Lord D. My dear Lady Windermere! Lady W. (Leaning back on the sofa.) You look on me as being behind the age. -Well, I am! I should be sorry to be on the same level as an age like this. Lord D. You think the age very bad? Lady W. Yes, now-a-days people seem to look on life as a speculation. It is not a speculation. It is a sacrament. Its ideal is Love. Its purification is sacrifice.

Lord D. (Smiling.) Oh, anything is better than being sacrificed!

Lady W. (Leaning forward.) Don't say that.

Lord D. I do say it. I feel it—I know it.

(Enter Parker c.)

Parker. The men want to know if they are to put the carpets on the terrace for to-night, my lady?

Lady W. You don't think it will rain, Lord Darlington, do you?

Lord D. I won't hear of its raining on your birthday!

Lady W. Tell them to do it at once, Parker.

(Exit Parker c.)

Lord D. (Still seated.) Do you think then of course I am only putting an imaginary instance-do you think, that in the case of a young married couple, say about two years married, if the husband suddenly becomes the intimate friend of a woman of-well, more than doubtful character, is always calling upon her, lunching with her, and probably paying her bills-do you think that the wife should not console herself? Lady W. (Frowning.) Console herself? Lord D. Yes, I think she should-I think she has the right.

Lady W. Because the husband is vile should the wife be vile also?

Lord D. Vileness is a terrible word, Lady Windermere.

Lady W. It is a terrible thing, Lord Darlington.

Lord D. Do you know I am afraid that good people do a great deal of harm in this world. Certainly the greatest harm they do is that they make badness of such extraordinary importance. It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious. I take the side of the charming, and you, Lady Windermere, can't help belonging to them.

Lady W. Now, Lord Darlington. (Ris

ing and crossing r., front of him.) Don't stir, I am merely going to finish my flowers.

(Goes to table r. c.)

Lord D. (Rising and moving chair.) And I must say I think you are very hard on modern life, Lady Windermere. Of course there is much against it, I admit. Most women, for instance, nowa-days, are rather mercenary.

Lady W. Don't talk about such people. Lord D. Well, then, setting mercenary people aside, who, of course, are dreadful, do you think seriously that women who have committed what the world calls a fault should never be forgiven? Lady W. (Standing at table.) I think they should never be forgiven.

Lord D. And me? Do you think that there should be the same laws for men as there are for women? Lady W. Certainly!

Lord D. I think life too complex a thing to be settled by these hard and fast rules. Lady W. If we had "these hard and fast rules," we should find life much more simple.

Lord D. You allow of no exceptions?
Lady W. None!

Lord D. Ah, what a fascinating Puritan you are, Lady Windermere!

Lady W. The adjective was unnecessary, Lord Darlington.

Lord D. I could n't help it. I can resist everything except temptation.

Lady W. You have the modern affectation of weakness.

Lord D. (Looking at her.) It's only an affection, Lady Windermere.

course they only say it behind my back.

(Lord

Duchess of B. Is n't he dreadful? Agatha, this is Lord Darlington. Mind you don't believe a word he says. Darlington crosses r. c.) No, no tea, thank you, dear. (Crosses and sits on sofa.) We have just had tea at Lady Markby's. Such bad tea, too. It was quite undrinkable. I was n't at all surprised. Her own son-in-law supplies it. Agatha is looking forward so much to your ball to-night, dear Margaret.

Lady W. (Seated l. c.) Oh, you must n't think it is going to be a ball, Duchess. It is only a dance in honor of my birthday. A small and early. Lord D. (Standing 1. c.) Very small, very early, and very select, Duchess. Duchess of B. (On sofa 1.) Of course it's going to be select. But we know that, dear Margaret, about your house. It is really one of the few houses in London where I can take Agatha, and where I feel perfectly secure about poor Berwick. I don't know what Society is coming to. The most dreadful people seem to go everywhere. They certainly come to my parties-the men get quite furious if one does n't ask them. Really, some one should make a stand against it. Lady W. I will, Duchess. I will have no one in my house about whom there is any scandal. Lord D. (r. c.) Oh, don't say that, Lady Windermere. I should never be admitted!

(Sitting.)

Duchess of B. Oh, men don't matter. With women it is different. We're good. Some of us are, at least. But we are positively getting elbowed into the corner. Our husbands would really forget our existence if we did n't nag at them from time to time, just to remind them that we have a perfect legal right to do so.

Lord D. It's a curious thing, Duchess, about the game of marriage-a game, by the way, that is going out of fashionthe wives hold all the honors, and invariably lose the odd trick. Duchess of B. The odd trick? Is that the husband, Lord Darlington? Lord D. It would be rather a good name for the modern husband.

Duchess of B. Dear Lord Darlington, how thoroughly depraved you are!

Lady W. Lord Darlington is trivial.

Lord D. Ah, don't say that, Lady Windermere.

Lady W. Why do you talk so trivially about life, then?

Lord D. Because I think that life is far too important a thing ever to talk seriously about it.

(Moves up c.)

Duchess of B. What does he mean? Do, as a concession to my poor wits, Lord Darlington, just explain to me what you really mean?

Lord D. (Coming down back of table.) I think I had better not, Duchess. Now-a-days to be intelligible is to be found out. Good-bye! (Shakes hands with Duchess.) And now (Goes up stage.), Lady Windermere, good-bye. I may come to-night, may n't I? Do let

me come.

Lady W. (Standing up stage with Lord D.) Yes, certainly. But you are not to say foolish, insincere things to people. Lord D. (Smiling.) Ah, you are beginning to reform me. It is a dangerous thing to reform any one, Lady Winder

mere.

(Bows, and exit c.) Duchess of B. (Who has risen, goes c.) What a charming, wicked creature! I like him so much. I'm quite delighted he's gone! How sweet you're looking! Where do you get your gowns? And now I must tell you how sorry I am for you, dear Margaret. (Crosses to sofa and sits with Lady W.) Agatha, darling!

Lady A. Yes, mamma.

(Rises.)

Duchess of B. Will you go and look over the photograph album that I see there? Lady A. Yes, mamma.

(Goes to table L.) Duchess of B. Dear girl! She is so fond of photographs of Switzerland. Such a pure taste, I think. But I really am so sorry for you, Margaret.

Lady W. (Smiling.) Why, Duchess? Duchess of B. Oh, on account of that horrid woman. She dresses so well, too, which makes it much worse, sets such a dreadful example. Augustus-you know my disreputable brother-such a trial to us all-well, Augustus is completely infatuated about her. It is quite scandalous, for she is absolutely inadmissible into society. Many a woman has a past, but I am told that she has at least a dozen, and that they all fit.

Lady W. Whom are you talking about, Duchess?

Duchess of B. About Mrs. Erlynne. Lady W. Mrs. Erlynne? I never heard of her, Duchess. And what has she to do with me?

Duchess of B. My poor child. Agatha, darling!

Lady A. Yes, mamma.

Duchess of B. Will you go out on the terrace and look at the sunset? Lady A. Yes, mamma.

(Exit through window 1.) Duchess of B. Sweet girl! So devoted to sunsets! Shows such refinement of feeling, does it not? After all, there is nothing like nature, is there? Lady W. But what is it, Duchess? Why do you talk to me about this person? Duchess of B. Don't you really know? I assure you we 're all so distressed about it. Only last night at dear Lady Fansen's every one was saying how extraordinary it was that, of all men in London, Windermere should behave in such a way.

Lady W. My husband-what has he got to do with any woman of that kind? Duchess of B. Ah, what indeed, dear? That is the point. He goes to see her continually, and stops for hours at a time, and while he is there she is not at home to any one. Not that many ladies call on her, dear, but she has a great many disreputable men friends-my own brother in particular, as I told youand that is what makes it so dreadful about Windermere. We looked upon him as being such a model husband, but I am afraid there is no doubt about it. My dear nieces-you know the Saville girls, don't you?-such nice domestic creatures-plain, dreadfully plain, but so good-well, they're always at the window doing fancy work, and making ugly things for the poor, which I think so useful of them in these dreadful socialistic days, and this terrible woman has taken a house in Curzon Street, right opposite them-such a respectable street, too. I don't know what we're coming to! And they tell me that Windermere goes there four and five times a weekthey see him. They can't help it-and although they never talk scandal, theywell, of course they remark on it to every one. And the worst of it all is, that I have been told that this woman has got a great deal of money out of

somebody, for it seems that she came to
London six months ago without anything
at all to speak of, and now she has this
charming house in Mayfair, drives her
pony in the Park every afternoon, and
all-well all-since she has known poor
dear Windermere.

Lady W. Oh, I can't believe it!
Duchess of B. But it's quite true, my

dear. The whole of London knows it. That is why I felt it was better to come and talk to you, and advise you to take Windermere away at once to Homburg or to Aix, where he'll have something to amuse him, and where you can watch him all day long. I assure you, my dear, that on several occasions after I was first married I had to pretend to be very ill, and was obliged to drink the most unpleasant mineral waters, merely to get Berwick out of town. He was so extremely susceptible. Though I am bound to say he never gave away any large sums of money to anybody. He is far too high-principled for that. Lady W. (Interrupting.) Duchess, Duchess, it's impossible! (Rising and crossing stage c.) We are only married two years. Our child is but six months old.

(Sits in chair r. of l. table.) Duchess of B. Ah, the dear, pretty baby! How is the little darling? Is it a boy or a girl? I hope a girl-Ah, no, I remember it's a boy! I'm so sorry. Boys are so wicked. My boy is excessively immoral. You would n't believe at what hours he comes home. And he's only left Oxford a few months-I really don't know what they teach them there. Lady W. Are all men bad? Duchess of B. Oh, all of them, my dear, all of them, without any exception. And they never grow any better. Men become old, but they never become good. Lady W. Windermere and I married for

love. Duchess of B. Yes, we begin like that. It was only Berwick's brutal and incessant threats of suicide that made me accept him at all, and before the year was out he was running after all kinds of petticoats, every color, every shape, every material. In fact, before the honeymoon was over, I caught him winking at my maid, a most pretty, respectable girl. I dismissed her at once without a character.-No, I remember, I passed her on to my sister; poor dear Sir George is so short-sighted, I thought it

would n't matter. But it did, though[-] it was most unfortunate. (Rises.) And now, my dear child, I must go, as we are dining out. And mind you don't take this little aberration of Windermere's too much to heart. Just take him abroad, and he'll come back to you all right. Lady W. Come back to me? (c.) Duchess of B. (l. c.) Yes, dear, these wicked women get our husbands away from us, but they always come back, slightly damaged, of course. And don't make scenes, men hate them! Lady W. It is very kind of you Duchess, to come and tell me all this. But I can't believe that my husband is untrue to me. Duchess of B. Pretty child! I was like that once. Now I know that all men are monsters. (Lady W. rings bell.) The only thing to do is to feed the wretches well. A good cook does wonders, and that I know you have. My dear Margaret, you are not going to cry? Lady W. You need n't be afraid, Duchess, I never cry.

Duchess of B. That's quite right, dear. Crying is the refuge of plain women, but the ruin of pretty ones. Agatha, darling!

Lady A. (Entering 1.) Yes, mamma.

(Stands back of table l. c.) Duchess of B. Come and bid good-bye to Lady Windermere, and thank her for your charming visit. (Coming down again.) And by the way, I must thank you for sending a card to Mr. Hopperhe's that rich young Australian, people are taking such notice of just at present. His father made a great fortune by selling some kind of food in circular tinsmost palatable, I believe I fancy it is the thing the servants always refuse to eat. But the son is quite interesting. I think he's attracted by dear Agatha's clever talk. Of course, we should be very sorry to lose her, but I think that a mother who does n't part with a daughter every season has no real affection. We're coming to-night, dear. (Parker opens c. doors.) And remember my advice, take the poor fellow out of town at once, it is the only thing to do. Goodbye, once more; come, Agatha.

(Exeunt Duchess and Lady A. c.) Lady W. How horrible! I understand now what Lord Darlington meant by the imaginary instance of the couple not two years married. Oh! it can't be true-she spoke of enormous sums of money paid

to this woman. I know where Arthur keeps his bank-book-in one of the drawers of that desk. I might find out by that. I will find out. (Opens drawer.) No, it is some hideous mistake. (Rises and goes c.) Some silly scandal! He loves me! He loves me! But why should I not look? I am his wife, I have a right to look! (Returns to bureau, takes out book and examines it, page by page, smiles and gives a sigh of relief.) I knew it, there is not a word of truth in this stupid story. (Puts book back in drawer. As she does so, starts and takes out another book.) A second book-private-locked! (Tries to open it, but fails. Sees paper knife on bureau, and with it cuts cover from book. Begins to start at the first page.) Mrs. Erlynne-£600-Mrs. Erlynne£700-Mrs. Erlynne-£400. Oh! it is true! it is true! How horrible!

(Throws book on floor.)

(Enter Lord W. c.)

Lord W. Well, dear, has the fan been sent home yet? (Going r. c. sees book.) Margaret, you have cut open my bank book. You have no right to do such a thing!

Lady W. You think it wrong that you are found out, don't you?

Lord W. I think it wrong that a wife should spy on her husband. Lady W. I did not spy on you. I never

knew of this woman's existence till half an hour ago. Some one who pitied me was kind enough to tell me what every one in London knows already-your daily visits to Curzon Street, your mad infatuation, the monstrous sums of money you squander on this infamous woman!

(Crossing l.)

Lord W. Margaret, don't talk like that of Mrs. Erlynne, you don't know how unjust it is!

Lady W. (Turning to him.) You are very jealous of Mrs. Erlynne's honor. I wish you had been as jealous of mine. Lord W. Your honor is untouched, Margaret. You don't think for a moment that

(Puts book back into desk.) Lady W. I think that you spend your money strangely. That is all. Oh, don't imagine I mind about the money. As far as I am concerned, you may squander everything we have. But what

I do mind is that you who have loved me, you who have taught me to love you, should pass from the love that is given to the love that is bought. Oh, it's horrible! (Sits on sofa.) And it is I who feel degraded. You don't feel anything. I feel stained, utterly stained. You can't realize how hideous the last six months seem to me now-every kiss you have given me is tainted in my memory.

Lord W. (Crossing to her.) Don't say that, Margaret, I never loved any one in the whole world but you.

Lady W. (Rises.) Who is this woman, then? Why do you take a house for her?

Lord W. I did not take a house for her. Lady W. You gave her the money to do it, which is the same thing.

Lord W. Margaret, as far as I have known Mrs. Erlynne

Lady W. Is there a Mr. Erlynne-or is he a myth?

Lord W. Her husband died many years ago. She is alone in the world. Lady W. No relations?

Lord W. None.

(A pause.)

Lady W. Rather curious, is n't it? (l.) Lord W. (l. c.) Margaret, I was say

ing to you-and I beg you to listen to me -that as far as I have known Mrs. Erlynne, she has conducted herself well. If years ago

Lady W. Oh! (Crossing r. c.) I don't want details about her life.

Lord W. I am not going to give you any details about her life. I tell you simply this-Mrs. Erlynne was once honored,. loved, respected. She was well born, she had a position-she lost everythingthrew it away, if you like. That makes it all the more bitter. Misfortunes one can endure they come from outside, they are accidents. But to suffer for one's own faults-ah! there is the sting of life. It was twenty years ago, too. She was little more than a girl then. She had been a wife for even less time than you have.

Lady W. I am not interested in her

and you should not mention this woman and me in the same breath. It is an error of taste.

(Sitting r. at desk.) Lord W. Margaret, you could save this woman. She wants to get back into society, and she wants you to help her.

(Rises.)

Lord W. I entreat you. People may chatter about her, do chatter about her, of course, but they don't know anything definite against her. She has been to several houses-not to houses where you would go, I admit, but still to houses where women who are in what is called Society now-a-days do go. That does not content her. She wants you to re ceive her once.

Lady W. As a triumph for her, I sup pose?

Lord W. No; but because she knows that you are a good woman-and that if she comes here once she will have a chance of a happier, a surer life, than she has had. She will make no further effort to know you. Won't you help a woman who is trying to get back?

Lady W. No! If a woman really repents, she never wishes to return to the

society that has made or seen her ruin. Lord W. I beg of you. Lady W. (Crossing to door r.) I am going to dress for dinner, and don't mention the subject again this evening. Arthur (Going to him c.), you fancy because I have no father or mother that I am alone in the world and that you can treat me as you choose. You are wrong, I have friends, many friends. Lord W. (l. c.) Margaret, you are talking foolishly, recklessly. I won't argue with you, but I insist upon your asking Mrs. Erlynne to-night.

Lady W. (r. c.) I shall do nothing of the kind.