An Ideal Husband Part 15

LORD GORING. Got my second b.u.t.tonhole for me, Phipps?

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord. [_Takes his hat_, _cane_, _and cape_, _and presents new b.u.t.tonhole on salver_.]

LORD GORING. Rather distinguished thing, Phipps. I am the only person of the smallest importance in London at present who wears a b.u.t.tonhole.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord. I have observed that,

LORD GORING. [_Taking out old b.u.t.tonhole_.] You see, Phipps, Fas.h.i.+on is what one wears oneself. What is unfas.h.i.+onable is what other people wear.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING. Just as vulgarity is simply the conduct of other people.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING. [_Putting in a new b.u.t.tonhole_.] And falsehoods the truths of other people.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING. Other people are quite dreadful. The only possible society is oneself.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING. To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance, Phipps.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord.

LORD GORING. [_Looking at himself in the gla.s.s_.] Don't think I quite like this b.u.t.tonhole, Phipps. Makes me look a little too old. Makes me almost in the prime of life, eh, Phipps?

PHIPPS. I don't observe any alteration in your lords.h.i.+p's appearance.

LORD GORING. You don't, Phipps?

PHIPPS. No, my lord.

LORD GORING. I am not quite sure. For the future a more trivial b.u.t.tonhole, Phipps, on Thursday evenings.

PHIPPS. I will speak to the florist, my lord. She has had a loss in her family lately, which perhaps accounts for the lack of triviality your lords.h.i.+p complains of in the b.u.t.tonhole.

LORD GORING. Extraordinary thing about the lower cla.s.ses in England-they are always losing their relations.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord! They are extremely fortunate in that respect.

LORD GORING. [_Turns round and looks at him_. PHIPPS _remains impa.s.sive_.] Hum! Any letters, Phipps?

PHIPPS. Three, my lord. [_Hands letters on a salver_.]

LORD GORING. [_Takes letters_.] Want my cab round in twenty minutes.

PHIPPS. Yes, my lord. [_Goes towards door_.]

LORD GORING. [_Holds up letter in pink envelope_.] Ahem! Phipps, when did this letter arrive?

PHIPPS. It was brought by hand just after your lords.h.i.+p went to the club.

LORD GORING. That will do. [_Exit_ PHIPPS.] Lady Chiltern's handwriting on Lady Chiltern's pink notepaper. That is rather curious.

I thought Robert was to write. Wonder what Lady Chiltern has got to say to me? [_Sits at bureau and opens letter_, _and reads it_.] 'I want you. I trust you. I am coming to you. Gertrude.' [_Puts down the letter with a puzzled look_. _Then takes it up_, _and reads it again slowly_.] 'I want you. I trust you. I am coming to you.' So she has found out everything! Poor woman! Poor woman! [ _Pulls out watch and looks at it_.] But what an hour to call! Ten o'clock! I shall have to give up going to the Berks.h.i.+res. However, it is always nice to be expected, and not to arrive. I am not expected at the Bachelors', so I shall certainly go there. Well, I will make her stand by her husband.

That is the only thing for her to do. That is the only thing for any woman to do. It is the growth of the moral sense in women that makes marriage such a hopeless, one-sided inst.i.tution. Ten o'clock. She should be here soon. I must tell Phipps I am not in to any one else.

[_Goes towards bell_]

[_Enter_ PHIPPS.]

PHIPPS. Lord Caversham.

LORD GORING. Oh, why will parents always appear at the wrong time? Some extraordinary mistake in nature, I suppose. [_Enter_ LORD CAVERSHAM.]

Delighted to see you, my dear father. [_Goes to meet him_.]

LORD CAVERSHAM. Take my cloak off.

LORD GORING. Is it worth while, father?

LORD CAVERSHAM. Of course it is worth while, sir. Which is the most comfortable chair?

LORD GORING. This one, father. It is the chair I use myself, when I have visitors.

LORD CAVERSHAM. Thank ye. No draught, I hope, in this room?

LORD GORING. No, father.

LORD CAVERSHAM. [_Sitting down_.] Glad to hear it. Can't stand draughts. No draughts at home.

LORD GORING. Good many breezes, father.

LORD CAVERSHAM. Eh? Eh? Don't understand what you mean. Want to have a serious conversation with you, sir.

LORD GORING. My dear father! At this hour?

LORD CAVERSHAM. Well, sir, it is only ten o'clock. What is your objection to the hour? I think the hour is an admirable hour!

LORD GORING. Well, the fact is, father, this is not my day for talking seriously. I am very sorry, but it is not my day.

LORD CAVERSHAM. What do you mean, sir?

LORD GORING. During the Season, father, I only talk seriously on the first Tuesday in every month, from four to seven.

LORD CAVERSHAM. Well, make it Tuesday, sir, make it Tuesday.

LORD GORING. But it is after seven, father, and my doctor says I must not have any serious conversation after seven. It makes me talk in my sleep.