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!