SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Which do you find it? MRS. CHEVELEY. I? A combination of all three. [_Drops her fan_.] SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Picks up fan_.] Allow me! MRS. CHEVELEY. Thanks. SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. But you have not told me yet what makes you honour London so suddenly. Our season is almost over. MRS. CHEVELEY. Oh! I don’t care about the London season! It is too matrimonial. People are either hunting for husbands, or hiding from them. I wanted to meet you. It is quite true. You know what a woman’s curiosity is. Almost as great as a man’s! I wanted immensely to meet you, and . . . to ask you to do something for me. SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I hope it is not a little thing, Mrs. Cheveley. I find that little things are so very difficult to do. MRS. CHEVELEY. [_After a moment’s reflection_.] No, I don’t think it is quite a little thing. SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I am so glad. Do tell me what it is. MRS. CHEVELEY. Later on. [_Rises_.] And now may I walk through your beautiful house? I hear your pictures are charming. Poor Baron Arnheim—you remember the Baron?—used to tell me you had some wonderful Corots. SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_With an almost imperceptible start_.] Did you know Baron Arnheim well? MRS. CHEVELEY. [_Smiling_.] Intimately. Did you? SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. At one time. MRS. CHEVELEY. Wonderful man, wasn’t he? SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_After a pause_.] He was very remarkable, in many ways. MRS. CHEVELEY. I often think it such a pity he never wrote his memoirs. They would have been most interesting. SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Yes: he knew men and cities well, like the old Greek. MRS. CHEVELEY. Without the dreadful disadvantage of having a Penelope waiting at home for him. MASON. Lord Goring. [_Enter_ LORD GORING. _Thirty-four_, _but always says he is younger_. _A well-bred_, _expressionless face_. _He is clever_, _but would not like to be thought so_. _A flawless dandy_, _he would be annoyed if he were considered romantic_. _He plays with life_, _and is on perfectly good terms with the world_. _He is fond of being misunderstood_. _It gives him a post of vantage_.] SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Good evening, my dear Arthur! Mrs. Cheveley, allow me to introduce to you Lord Goring, the idlest man in London. MRS. CHEVELEY. I have met Lord Goring before. LORD GORING. [_Bowing_.] I did not think you would remember me, Mrs. Cheveley. MRS. CHEVELEY. My memory is under admirable control. And are you still a bachelor? LORD GORING. I . . . believe so. MRS. CHEVELEY. How very romantic! LORD GORING. Oh! I am not at all romantic. I am not old enough. I leave romance to my seniors. SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Lord Goring is the result of Boodle’s Club, Mrs. Cheveley. MRS. CHEVELEY. He reflects every credit on the institution. LORD GORING. May I ask are you staying in London long? MRS. CHEVELEY. That depends partly on the weather, partly on the cooking, and partly on Sir Robert.