An ideal husband
MABEL CHILTERN. Well, Tommy has proposed to me again. Tommy really does
nothing but propose to me. He proposed to me last night in the
music-room, when I was quite unprotected, as there was an elaborate trio
going on. I didn’t dare to make the smallest repartee, I need hardly
tell you. If I had, it would have stopped the music at once. Musical
people are so absurdly unreasonable. They always want one to be
perfectly dumb at the very moment when one is longing to be absolutely
deaf. Then he proposed to me in broad daylight this morning, in front of
that dreadful statue of Achilles. Really, the things that go on in front
of that work of art are quite appalling. The police should interfere.
At luncheon I saw by the glare in his eye that he was going to propose
again, and I just managed to check him in time by assuring him that I was
a bimetallist. Fortunately I don’t know what bimetallism means. And I
don’t believe anybody else does either. But the observation crushed
Tommy for ten minutes. He looked quite shocked. And then Tommy is so
annoying in the way he proposes. If he proposed at the top of his voice,
I should not mind so much. That might produce some effect on the public.
But he does it in a horrid confidential way. When Tommy wants to be
romantic he talks to one just like a doctor. I am very fond of Tommy,
but his methods of proposing are quite out of date. I wish, Gertrude,
you would speak to him, and tell him that once a week is quite often
enough to propose to any one, and that it should always be done in a
manner that attracts some attention.
LADY CHILTERN. Dear Mabel, don’t talk like that. Besides, Robert thinks
very highly of Mr. Trafford. He believes he has a brilliant future
before him.
MABEL CHILTERN. Oh! I wouldn’t marry a man with a future before him for
anything under the sun.
LADY CHILTERN. Mabel!
MABEL CHILTERN. I know, dear. You married a man with a future, didn’t
you? But then Robert was a genius, and you have a noble,
self-sacrificing character. You can stand geniuses. I have no character
at all, and Robert is the only genius I could ever bear. As a rule, I
think they are quite impossible. Geniuses talk so much, don’t they?
Such a bad habit! And they are always thinking about themselves, when I
want them to be thinking about me. I must go round now and rehearse at
Lady Basildon’s. You remember, we are having tableaux, don’t you? The
Triumph of something, I don’t know what! I hope it will be triumph of
me. Only triumph I am really interested in at present. [_Kisses_ LADY
CHILTERN _and goes out_; _then comes running back_.] Oh, Gertrude, do
you know who is coming to see you? That dreadful Mrs. Cheveley, in a
most lovely gown. Did you ask her?
LADY CHILTERN. [_Rising_.] Mrs. Cheveley! Coming to see me?
Impossible!
MABEL CHILTERN. I assure you she is coming upstairs, as large as life
and not nearly so natural.
LADY CHILTERN. You need not wait, Mabel. Remember, Lady Basildon is
expecting you.
MABEL CHILTERN. Oh! I must shake hands with Lady Markby. She is
delightful. I love being scolded by her.
[_Enter_ MASON.]
MASON. Lady Markby. Mrs. Cheveley.
[_Enter_ LADY MARKBY _and_ MRS. CHEVELEY.]
LADY CHILTERN. [_Advancing to meet them_.] Dear Lady Markby, how nice
of you to come and see me! [_Shakes hands with her_, _and bows somewhat
distantly to_ MRS. CHEVELEY.] Won’t you sit down, Mrs. Cheveley?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Thanks. Isn’t that Miss Chiltern? I should like so much
to know her.
LADY CHILTERN. Mabel, Mrs. Cheveley wishes to know you.
[MABEL CHILTERN _gives a little nod_.]
MRS. CHEVELEY [_Sitting down_.] I thought your frock so charming last
night, Miss Chiltern. So simple and . . . suitable.
MABEL CHILTERN. Really? I must tell my dressmaker. It will be such a
surprise to her. Good-bye, Lady Markby!
LADY MARKBY. Going already?
MABEL CHILTERN. I am so sorry but I am obliged to. I am just off to
rehearsal. I have got to stand on my head in some tableaux.
LADY MARKBY. On your head, child? Oh! I hope not. I believe it is most
unhealthy. [_Takes a seat on the sofa next_ LADY CHILTERN.]
MABEL CHILTERN. But it is for an excellent charity: in aid of the
Undeserving, the only people I am really interested in. I am the
secretary, and Tommy Trafford is treasurer.
MRS. CHEVELEY. And what is Lord Goring?
MABEL CHILTERN. Oh! Lord Goring is president.
MRS. CHEVELEY. The post should suit him admirably, unless he has
deteriorated since I knew him first.
LADY MARKBY. [_Reflecting_.] You are remarkably modern, Mabel. A
little too modern, perhaps. Nothing is so dangerous as being too modern.
One is apt to grow old-fashioned quite suddenly. I have known many
instances of it.
MABEL CHILTERN. What a dreadful prospect!
LADY MARKBY. Ah! my dear, you need not be nervous. You will always be
as pretty as possible. That is the best fashion there is, and the only
fashion that England succeeds in setting.
MABEL CHILTERN. [_With a curtsey_.] Thank you so much, Lady Markby, for
England . . . and myself. [_Goes out_.]
LADY MARKBY. [_Turning to_ LADY CHILTERN.] Dear Gertrude, we just
called to know if Mrs. Cheveley’s diamond brooch has been found.
LADY CHILTERN. Here?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Yes. I missed it when I got back to Claridge’s, and I
thought I might possibly have dropped it here.
LADY CHILTERN. I have heard nothing about it. But I will send for the
butler and ask. [_Touches the bell_.]
MRS. CHEVELEY. Oh, pray don’t trouble, Lady Chiltern. I dare say I lost
it at the Opera, before we came on here.
LADY MARKBY. Ah yes, I suppose it must have been at the Opera. The fact
is, we all scramble and jostle so much nowadays that I wonder we have
anything at all left on us at the end of an evening. I know myself that,
when I am coming back from the Drawing Room, I always feel as if I hadn’t
a shred on me, except a small shred of decent reputation, just enough to
prevent the lower classes making painful observations through the windows
of the carriage. The fact is that our Society is terribly
over-populated. Really, some one should arrange a proper scheme of
assisted emigration. It would do a great deal of good.
MRS. CHEVELEY. I quite agree with you, Lady Markby. It is nearly six
years since I have been in London for the Season, and I must say Society
has become dreadfully mixed. One sees the oddest people everywhere.
LADY MARKBY. That is quite true, dear. But one needn’t know them. I’m
sure I don’t know half the people who come to my house. Indeed, from all
I hear, I shouldn’t like to.
[_Enter_ MASON.]
LADY CHILTERN. What sort of a brooch was it that you lost, Mrs.
Cheveley?
MRS. CHEVELEY. A diamond snake-brooch with a ruby, a rather large ruby.
LADY MARKBY. I thought you said there was a sapphire on the head, dear?
MRS. CHEVELEY [_Smiling_.] No, lady Markby—a ruby.
LADY MARKBY. [_Nodding her head_.] And very becoming, I am quite sure.
LADY CHILTERN. Has a ruby and diamond brooch been found in any of the
rooms this morning, Mason?
MASON. No, my lady.
MRS. CHEVELEY. It really is of no consequence, Lady Chiltern. I am so
sorry to have put you to any inconvenience.
LADY CHILTERN. [_Coldly_.] Oh, it has been no inconvenience. That will
do, Mason. You can bring tea.
[_Exit_ MASON.]
LADY MARKBY. Well, I must say it is most annoying to lose anything. I
remember once at Bath, years ago, losing in the Pump Room an exceedingly
handsome cameo bracelet that Sir John had given me. I don’t think he has
ever given me anything since, I am sorry to say. He has sadly
degenerated. Really, this horrid House of Commons quite ruins our
husbands for us. I think the Lower House by far the greatest blow to a
happy married life that there has been since that terrible thing called
the Higher Education of Women was invented.
LADY CHILTERN. Ah! it is heresy to say that in this house, Lady Markby.
Robert is a great champion of the Higher Education of Women, and so, I am
afraid, am I.
MRS. CHEVELEY. The higher education of men is what I should like to see.
Men need it so sadly.
LADY MARKBY. They do, dear. But I am afraid such a scheme would be
quite unpractical. I don’t think man has much capacity for development.
He has got as far as he can, and that is not far, is it? With regard to
women, well, dear Gertrude, you belong to the younger generation, and I
am sure it is all right if you approve of it. In my time, of course, we
were taught not to understand anything. That was the old system, and
wonderfully interesting it was. I assure you that the amount of things I
and my poor dear sister were taught not to understand was quite
extraordinary. But modern women understand everything, I am told.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Except their husbands. That is the one thing the modern
woman never understands.
LADY MARKBY. And a very good thing too, dear, I dare say. It might
break up many a happy home if they did. Not yours, I need hardly say,
Gertrude. You have married a pattern husband. I wish I could say as
much for myself. But since Sir John has taken to attending the debates
regularly, which he never used to do in the good old days, his language
has become quite impossible. He always seems to think that he is
addressing the House, and consequently whenever he discusses the state of
the agricultural labourer, or the Welsh Church, or something quite
improper of that kind, I am obliged to send all the servants out of the
room. It is not pleasant to see one’s own butler, who has been with one
for twenty-three years, actually blushing at the side-board, and the
footmen making contortions in corners like persons in circuses. I assure
you my life will be quite ruined unless they send John at once to the
Upper House. He won’t take any interest in politics then, will he? The
House of Lords is so sensible. An assembly of gentlemen. But in his
present state, Sir John is really a great trial. Why, this morning
before breakfast was half over, he stood up on the hearthrug, put his
hands in his pockets, and appealed to the country at the top of his
voice. I left the table as soon as I had my second cup of tea, I need
hardly say. But his violent language could be heard all over the house!
I trust, Gertrude, that Sir Robert is not like that?
LADY CHILTERN. But I am very much interested in politics, Lady Markby.
I love to hear Robert talk about them.
LADY MARKBY. Well, I hope he is not as devoted to Blue Books as Sir John
is. I don’t think they can be quite improving reading for any one.
MRS. CHEVELEY [_Languidly_.] I have never read a Blue Book. I prefer
books . . . in yellow covers.
LADY MARKBY. [_Genially unconscious_.] Yellow is a gayer colour, is it
not? I used to wear yellow a good deal in my early days, and would do so
now if Sir John was not so painfully personal in his observations, and a
man on the question of dress is always ridiculous, is he not?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Oh, no! I think men are the only authorities on dress.
LADY MARKBY. Really? One wouldn’t say so from the sort of hats they
wear? would one?
[_The butler enters_, _followed by the footman_. _Tea is set on a small
table close to_ LADY CHILTERN.]
LADY CHILTERN. May I give you some tea, Mrs. Cheveley?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Thanks. [_The butler hands_ MRS. CHEVELEY _a cup of tea
on a salver_.]
LADY CHILTERN. Some tea, Lady Markby?
LADY MARKBY. No thanks, dear. [_The servants go out_.] The fact is, I
have promised to go round for ten minutes to see poor Lady Brancaster,
who is in very great trouble. Her daughter, quite a well-brought-up
girl, too, has actually become engaged to be married to a curate in