MRS. CHEVELEY. [_To herself_.] I wonder what woman he is waiting for to-night. It will be delightful to catch him. Men always look so silly when they are caught. And they are always being caught. [_Looks about room and approaches the writing-table_.] What a very interesting room! What a very interesting picture! Wonder what his correspondence is like. [_Takes up letters_.] Oh, what a very uninteresting correspondence! Bills and cards, debts and dowagers! Who on earth writes to him on pink paper? How silly to write on pink paper! It looks like the beginning of a middle-class romance. Romance should never begin with sentiment. It should begin with science and end with a settlement. [_Puts letter down_, _then takes it up again_.] I know that handwriting. That is Gertrude Chiltern’s. I remember it perfectly. The ten commandments in every stroke of the pen, and the moral law all over the page. Wonder what Gertrude is writing to him about? Something horrid about me, I suppose. How I detest that woman! [_Reads it_.] ‘I trust you. I want you. I am coming to you. Gertrude.’ ‘I trust you. I want you. I am coming to you.’ [_A look of triumph comes over her face_. _She is just about to steal the letter_, _when_ PHIPPS _comes in_.] PHIPPS. The candles in the drawing-room are lit, madam, as you directed. MRS. CHEVELEY. Thank you. [_Rises hastily and slips the letter under a large silver-cased blotting-book that is lying on the table_.] PHIPPS. I trust the shades will be to your liking, madam. They are the most becoming we have. They are the same as his lordship uses himself when he is dressing for dinner. MRS. CHEVELEY. [_With a smile_.] Then I am sure they will be perfectly right. PHIPPS. [_Gravely_.] Thank you, madam. [MRS. CHEVELEY _goes into the drawing-room_. PHIPPS _closes the door and retires_. _The door is then slowly opened_, _and_ MRS. CHEVELEY _comes out and creeps stealthily towards the writing-table_. _Suddenly voices are heard from the smoking-room_. MRS. CHEVELEY _grows pale_, _and stops_. _The voices grow louder_, _and she goes back into the drawing-room_, _biting her lip_.] [_Enter_ LORD GORING _and_ LORD CAVERSHAM.] LORD GORING. [_Expostulating_.] My dear father, if I am to get married, surely you will allow me to choose the time, place, and person? Particularly the person. LORD CAVERSHAM. [_Testily_.] That is a matter for me, sir. You would probably make a very poor choice. It is I who should be consulted, not you. There is property at stake. It is not a matter for affection. Affection comes later on in married life. LORD GORING. Yes. In married life affection comes when people thoroughly dislike each other, father, doesn’t it? [_Puts on_ LORD CAVERSHAM’S _cloak for him_.] LORD CAVERSHAM. Certainly, sir. I mean certainly not, sir. You are talking very foolishly to-night. What I say is that marriage is a matter for common sense.