LORD ILLINGWORTH. Then, my dear boy, we may look on the thing as settled. Come, you and I will smoke a cigarette on the terrace together. And Mrs. Arbuthnot, pray let me tell you, that I think you have acted very, very wisely. [_Exit with_ GERALD. MRS. ARBUTHNOT _is left alone_. _She stands immobile with a look of unutterable sorrow on her face_.] ACT DROP THIRD ACT SCENE _The Picture Gallery at Hunstanton_. _Door at back leading on to terrace_. [LORD ILLINGWORTH _and_ GERALD, R.C. LORD ILLINGWORTH _lolling on a sofa_. GERALD _in a chair_.] LORD ILLINGWORTH. Thoroughly sensible woman, your mother, Gerald. I knew she would come round in the end. GERALD. My mother is awfully conscientious, Lord Illingworth, and I know she doesn’t think I am educated enough to be your secretary. She is perfectly right, too. I was fearfully idle when I was at school, and I couldn’t pass an examination now to save my life. LORD ILLINGWORTH. My dear Gerald, examinations are of no value whatsoever. If a man is a gentleman, he knows quite enough, and if he is not a gentleman, whatever he knows is bad for him. GERALD. But I am so ignorant of the world, Lord Illingworth. LORD ILLINGWORTH. Don’t be afraid, Gerald. Remember that you’ve got on your side the most wonderful thing in the world—youth! There is nothing like youth. The middle-aged are mortgaged to Life. The old are in life’s lumber-room. But youth is the Lord of Life. Youth has a kingdom waiting for it. Every one is born a king, and most people die in exile, like most kings. To win back my youth, Gerald, there is nothing I wouldn’t do—except take exercise, get up early, or be a useful member of the community. GERALD. But you don’t call yourself old, Lord Illingworth? LORD ILLINGWORTH. I am old enough to be your father, Gerald. GERALD. I don’t remember my father; he died years ago. LORD ILLINGWORTH. So Lady Hunstanton told me. GERALD. It is very curious, my mother never talks to me about my father. I sometimes think she must have married beneath her. LORD ILLINGWORTH. [_Winces slightly_.] Really? [_Goes over and puts his hand on_ GERALD’S _shoulder_.] You have missed not having a father, I suppose, Gerald? GERALD. Oh, no; my mother has been so good to me. No one ever had such a mother as I have had. LORD ILLINGWORTH. I am quite sure of that. Still I should imagine that most mothers don’t quite understand their sons. Don’t realise, I mean, that a son has ambitions, a desire to see life, to make himself a name. After all, Gerald, you couldn’t be expected to pass all your life in such a hole as Wrockley, could you? GERALD. Oh, no! It would be dreadful! LORD ILLINGWORTH. A mother’s love is very touching, of course, but it is often curiously selfish. I mean, there is a good deal of selfishness in it. GERALD. [_Slowly_.] I suppose there is.