MRS. ARBUTHNOT. I do not, Lady Hunstanton. I think there are many things women should never forgive. LADY HUNSTANTON. What sort of things? MRS. ARBUTHNOT. The ruin of another woman’s life. [_Moves slowly away to back of stage_.] LADY HUNSTANTON. Ah! those things are very sad, no doubt, but I believe there are admirable homes where people of that kind are looked after and reformed, and I think on the whole that the secret of life is to take things very, very easily. MRS. ALLONBY. The secret of life is never to have an emotion that is unbecoming. LADY STUTFIELD. The secret of life is to appreciate the pleasure of being terribly, terribly deceived. KELVIL. The secret of life is to resist temptation, Lady Stutfield. LORD ILLINGWORTH. There is no secret of life. Life’s aim, if it has one, is simply to be always looking for temptations. There are not nearly enough. I sometimes pass a whole day without coming across a single one. It is quite dreadful. It makes one so nervous about the future. LADY HUNSTANTON. [_Shakes her fan at him_.] I don’t know how it is, dear Lord Illingworth, but everything you have said to-day seems to me excessively immoral. It has been most interesting, listening to you. LORD ILLINGWORTH. All thought is immoral. Its very essence is destruction. If you think of anything, you kill it. Nothing survives being thought of. LADY HUNSTANTON. I don’t understand a word, Lord Illingworth. But I have no doubt it is all quite true. Personally, I have very little to reproach myself with, on the score of thinking. I don’t believe in women thinking too much. Women should think in moderation, as they should do all things in moderation. LORD ILLINGWORTH. Moderation is a fatal thing, Lady Hunstanton. Nothing succeeds like excess. LADY HUNSTANTON. I hope I shall remember that. It sounds an admirable maxim. But I’m beginning to forget everything. It’s a great misfortune. LORD ILLINGWORTH. It is one of your most fascinating qualities, Lady Hunstanton. No woman should have a memory. Memory in a woman is the beginning of dowdiness. One can always tell from a woman’s bonnet whether she has got a memory or not. LADY HUNSTANTON. How charming you are, dear Lord Illingworth. You always find out that one’s most glaring fault is one’s most important virtue. You have the most comforting views of life. [_Enter_ FARQUHAR.] FARQUHAR. Doctor Daubeny’s carriage! LADY HUNSTANTON. My dear Archdeacon! It is only half-past ten. THE ARCHDEACON. [_Rising_.] I am afraid I must go, Lady Hunstanton. Tuesday is always one of Mrs. Daubeny’s bad nights. LADY HUNSTANTON. [_Rising_.] Well, I won’t keep you from her. [_Goes with him towards door_.] I have told Farquhar to put a brace of partridge into the carriage. Mrs. Daubeny may fancy them.