LORD WINDERMERE. [_Standing C._] I sometimes wish you had. I should have been spared then the misery, the anxiety, the annoyance of the last six months. But rather than my wife should know—that the mother whom she was taught to consider as dead, the mother whom she has mourned as dead, is living—a divorced woman, going about under an assumed name, a bad woman preying upon life, as I know you now to be—rather than that, I was ready to supply you with money to pay bill after bill, extravagance after extravagance, to risk what occurred yesterday, the first quarrel I have ever had with my wife. You don’t understand what that means to me. How could you? But I tell you that the only bitter words that ever came from those sweet lips of hers were on your account, and I hate to see you next her. You sully the innocence that is in her. [_Moves L.C._] And then I used to think that with all your faults you were frank and honest. You are not. MRS. ERLYNNE. Why do you say that? LORD WINDERMERE. You made me get you an invitation to my wife’s ball. MRS. ERLYNNE. For my daughter’s ball—yes. LORD WINDERMERE. You came, and within an hour of your leaving the house you are found in a man’s rooms—you are disgraced before every one. [_Goes up stage C._] MRS. ERLYNNE. Yes. LORD WINDERMERE. [_Turning round on her_.] Therefore I have a right to look upon you as what you are—a worthless, vicious woman. I have the right to tell you never to enter this house, never to attempt to come near my wife— MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Coldly_.] My daughter, you mean. LORD WINDERMERE. You have no right to claim her as your daughter. You left her, abandoned her when she was but a child in the cradle, abandoned her for your lover, who abandoned you in turn. MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Rising_.] Do you count that to his credit, Lord Windermere—or to mine? LORD WINDERMERE. To his, now that I know you. MRS. ERLYNNE. Take care—you had better be careful. LORD WINDERMERE. Oh, I am not going to mince words for you. I know you thoroughly. MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Looks steadily at him_.] I question that. LORD WINDERMERE. I _do_ know you. For twenty years of your life you lived without your child, without a thought of your child. One day you read in the papers that she had married a rich man. You saw your hideous chance. You knew that to spare her the ignominy of learning that a woman like you was her mother, I would endure anything. You began your blackmailing. MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Shrugging her shoulders_.] Don’t use ugly words, Windermere. They are vulgar. I saw my chance, it is true, and took it. LORD WINDERMERE. Yes, you took it—and spoiled it all last night by being found out. MRS. ERLYNNE. [_With a strange smile_.] You are quite right, I spoiled it all last night.