ALICE. Mrs. Arbuthnot’s compliments, my lady, but she has a bad headache, and cannot see any one this morning. [_Exit_ R.C.] LADY HUNSTANTON. [_Rising_.] A bad headache! I am so sorry! Perhaps you’ll bring her up to Hunstanton this afternoon, if she is better, Gerald. GERALD. I am afraid not this afternoon, Lady Hunstanton. LADY HUNSTANTON. Well, to-morrow, then. Ah, if you had a father, Gerald, he wouldn’t let you waste your life here. He would send you off with Lord Illingworth at once. But mothers are so weak. They give up to their sons in everything. We are all heart, all heart. Come, dear, I must call at the rectory and inquire for Mrs. Daubeny, who, I am afraid, is far from well. It is wonderful how the Archdeacon bears up, quite wonderful. He is the most sympathetic of husbands. Quite a model. Good-bye, Gerald, give my fondest love to your mother. MRS. ALLONBY. Good-bye, Mr. Arbuthnot. GERALD. Good-bye. [_Exit_ LADY HUNSTANTON _and_ MRS. ALLONBY. GERALD _sits down and reads over his letter_.] GERALD. What name can I sign? I, who have no right to any name. [_Signs name_, _puts letter into envelope_, _addresses it_, _and is about to seal it_, _when door_ L.C. _opens and_ MRS. ARBUTHNOT _enters_. GERALD _lays down sealing-wax_. _Mother and son look at each other_.] LADY HUNSTANTON. [_Through French window at the back_.] Good-bye again, Gerald. We are taking the short cut across your pretty garden. Now, remember my advice to you—start at once with Lord Illingworth. MRS. ALLONBY. _Au revoir_, Mr. Arbuthnot. Mind you bring me back something nice from your travels—not an Indian shawl—on no account an Indian shawl. [_Exeunt_.] GERALD. Mother, I have just written to him. MRS. ARBUTHNOT. To whom? GERALD. To my father. I have written to tell him to come here at four o’clock this afternoon. MRS. ARBUTHNOT. He shall not come here. He shall not cross the threshold of my house. GERALD. He must come. MRS. ARBUTHNOT. Gerald, if you are going away with Lord Illingworth, go at once. Go before it kills me: but don’t ask me to meet him. GERALD. Mother, you don’t understand. Nothing in the world would induce me to go away with Lord Illingworth, or to leave you. Surely you know me well enough for that. No: I have written to him to say— MRS. ARBUTHNOT. What can you have to say to him? GERALD. Can’t you guess, mother, what I have written in this letter? MRS. ARBUTHNOT. No. GERALD. Mother, surely you can. Think, think what must be done, now, at once, within the next few days. MRS. ARBUTHNOT. There is nothing to be done. GERALD. I have written to Lord Illingworth to tell him that he must marry you. MRS. ARBUTHNOT. Marry me? GERALD. Mother, I will force him to do it. The wrong that has been done you must be repaired. Atonement must be made. Justice may be slow, mother, but it comes in the end. In a few days you shall be Lord Illingworth’s lawful wife. MRS. ARBUTHNOT. But, Gerald—