LORD WINDERMERE. And as for your blunder in taking my wife’s fan from here and then leaving it about in Darlington’s rooms, it is unpardonable. I can’t bear the sight of it now. I shall never let my wife use it again. The thing is soiled for me. You should have kept it and not brought it back. MRS. ERLYNNE. I think I shall keep it. [_Goes up_.] It’s extremely pretty. [_Takes up fan_.] I shall ask Margaret to give it to me. LORD WINDERMERE. I hope my wife will give it you. MRS. ERLYNNE. Oh, I’m sure she will have no objection. LORD WINDERMERE. I wish that at the same time she would give you a miniature she kisses every night before she prays—It’s the miniature of a young innocent-looking girl with beautiful _dark_ hair. MRS. ERLYNNE. Ah, yes, I remember. How long ago that seems! [_Goes to sofa and sits down_.] It was done before I was married. Dark hair and an innocent expression were the fashion then, Windermere! [_A pause_.] LORD WINDERMERE. What do you mean by coming here this morning? What is your object? [_Crossing L.C. and sitting_.] MRS. ERLYNNE. [_With a note of irony in her voice_.] To bid good-bye to my dear daughter, of course. [LORD WINDERMERE _bites his under lip in anger_. MRS. ERLYNNE _looks at him_, _and her voice and manner become serious_. _In her accents as she talks there is a note of deep tragedy_. _For a moment she reveals herself_.] Oh, don’t imagine I am going to have a pathetic scene with her, weep on her neck and tell her who I am, and all that kind of thing. I have no ambition to play the part of a mother. Only once in my life have I known a mother’s feelings. That was last night. They were terrible—they made me suffer—they made me suffer too much. For twenty years, as you say, I have lived childless,—I want to live childless still. [_Hiding her feelings with a trivial laugh_.] Besides, my dear Windermere, how on earth could I pose as a mother with a grown-up daughter? Margaret is twenty-one, and I have never admitted that I am more than twenty-nine, or thirty at the most. Twenty-nine when there are pink shades, thirty when there are not. So you see what difficulties it would involve. No, as far as I am concerned, let your wife cherish the memory of this dead, stainless mother. Why should I interfere with her illusions? I find it hard enough to keep my own. I lost one illusion last night. I thought I had no heart. I find I have, and a heart doesn’t suit me, Windermere. Somehow it doesn’t go with modern dress. It makes one look old. [_Takes up hand-mirror from table and looks into it_.] And it spoils one’s career at critical moments. LORD WINDERMERE. You fill me with horror—with absolute horror.