MRS. MARCHMONT. Well, we are not going to praise her. I hear she went to the Opera on Monday night, and told Tommy Rufford at supper that, as far as she could see, London Society was entirely made up of dowdies and dandies. LORD GORING. She is quite right, too. The men are all dowdies and the women are all dandies, aren’t they? MRS. MARCHMONT. [_After a pause_.] Oh! do you really think that is what Mrs. Cheveley meant? LORD GORING. Of course. And a very sensible remark for Mrs. Cheveley to make, too. [_Enter_ MABEL CHILTERN. _She joins the group_.] MABEL CHILTERN. Why are you talking about Mrs. Cheveley? Everybody is talking about Mrs. Cheveley! Lord Goring says—what did you say, Lord Goring, about Mrs. Cheveley? Oh! I remember, that she was a genius in the daytime and a beauty at night. LADY BASILDON. What a horrid combination! So very unnatural! MRS. MARCHMONT. [_In her most dreamy manner_.] I like looking at geniuses, and listening to beautiful people. LORD GORING. Ah! that is morbid of you, Mrs. Marchmont! MRS. MARCHMONT. [_Brightening to a look of real pleasure_.] I am so glad to hear you say that. Marchmont and I have been married for seven years, and he has never once told me that I was morbid. Men are so painfully unobservant! LADY BASILDON. [_Turning to her_.] I have always said, dear Margaret, that you were the most morbid person in London. MRS. MARCHMONT. Ah! but you are always sympathetic, Olivia! MABEL CHILTERN. Is it morbid to have a desire for food? I have a great desire for food. Lord Goring, will you give me some supper? LORD GORING. With pleasure, Miss Mabel. [_Moves away with her_.] MABEL CHILTERN. How horrid you have been! You have never talked to me the whole evening! LORD GORING. How could I? You went away with the child-diplomatist. MABEL CHILTERN. You might have followed us. Pursuit would have been only polite. I don’t think I like you at all this evening! LORD GORING. I like you immensely. MABEL CHILTERN. Well, I wish you’d show it in a more marked way! [_They go downstairs_.] MRS. MARCHMONT. Olivia, I have a curious feeling of absolute faintness. I think I should like some supper very much. I know I should like some supper. LADY BASILDON. I am positively dying for supper, Margaret! MRS. MARCHMONT. Men are so horribly selfish, they never think of these things. LADY BASILDON. Men are grossly material, grossly material! [_The_ VICOMTE DE NANJAC _enters from the music-room with some other guests_. _After having carefully examined all the people present_, _he approaches_ LADY BASILDON.] VICOMTE DE NANJAC. May I have the honour of taking you down to supper, Comtesse? LADY BASILDON. [_Coldly_.] I never take supper, thank you, Vicomte. [_The_ VICOMTE _is about to retire_. LADY BASILDON, _seeing this_, _rises at once and takes his arm_.] But I will come down with you with pleasure.