LADY WINDERMERE. How horrible! I understand now what Lord Darlington meant by the imaginary instance of the couple not two years married. Oh! it can’t be true—she spoke of enormous sums of money paid to this woman. I know where Arthur keeps his bank book—in one of the drawers of that desk. I might find out by that. I _will_ find out. [_Opens drawer_.] No, it is some hideous mistake. [_Rises and goes C._] Some silly scandal! He loves _me_! He loves _me_! But why should I not look? I am his wife, I have a right to look! [_Returns to bureau_, _takes out book and examines it page by page_, _smiles and gives a sigh of relief_.] I knew it! there is not a word of truth in this stupid story. [_Puts book back in dranver_. _As the does so_, _starts and takes out another book_.] A second book—private—locked! [_Tries to open it_, _but fails_. _Sees paper knife on bureau_, _and with it cuts cover from book_. _Begins to start at the first page_.] ‘Mrs. Erlynne—£600—Mrs. Erlynne—£700—Mrs. Erlynne—£400.’ Oh! it is true! It is true! How horrible! [_Throws book on floor_.] [_Enter_ LORD WINDERMERE _C._] LORD WINDERMERE. Well, dear, has the fan been sent home yet? [_Going R.C._ _Sees book_.] Margaret, you have cut open my bank book. You have no right to do such a thing! LADY WINDERMERE. You think it wrong that you are found out, don’t you? LORD WINDERMERE. I think it wrong that a wife should spy on her husband. LADY WINDERMERE. I did not spy on you. I never knew of this woman’s existence till half an hour ago. Some one who pitied me was kind enough to tell me what every one in London knows already—your daily visits to Curzon Street, your mad infatuation, the monstrous sums of money you squander on this infamous woman! [_Crossing L._] LORD WINDERMERE. Margaret! don’t talk like that of Mrs. Erlynne, you don’t know how unjust it is! LADY WINDERMERE. [_Turning to him_.] You are very jealous of Mrs. Erlynne’s honour. I wish you had been as jealous of mine. LORD WINDERMERE. Your honour is untouched, Margaret. You don’t think for a moment that—[_Puts book back into desk_.] LADY WINDERMERE. I think that you spend your money strangely. That is all. Oh, don’t imagine I mind about the money. As far as I am concerned, you may squander everything we have. But what I _do_ mind is that you who have loved me, you who have taught me to love you, should pass from the love that is given to the love that is bought. Oh, it’s horrible! [_Sits on sofa_.] And it is I who feel degraded! _you_ don’t feel anything. I feel stained, utterly stained. You can’t realise how hideous the last six months seems to me now—every kiss you have given me is tainted in my memory. LORD WINDERMERE. [_Crossing to her_.] Don’t say that, Margaret. I never loved any one in the whole world but you. LADY WINDERMERE. [_Rises_.] Who is this woman, then? Why do you take a house for her?