MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Rising_.] I suppose, Windermere, you would like me to retire into a convent, or become a hospital nurse, or something of that kind, as people do in silly modern novels. That is stupid of you, Arthur; in real life we don’t do such things—not as long as we have any good looks left, at any rate. No—what consoles one nowadays is not repentance, but pleasure. Repentance is quite out of date. And besides, if a woman really repents, she has to go to a bad dressmaker, otherwise no one believes in her. And nothing in the world would induce me to do that. No; I am going to pass entirely out of your two lives. My coming into them has been a mistake—I discovered that last night. LORD WINDERMERE. A fatal mistake. MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Smiling_.] Almost fatal. LORD WINDERMERE. I am sorry now I did not tell my wife the whole thing at once. MRS. ERLYNNE. I regret my bad actions. You regret your good ones—that is the difference between us. LORD WINDERMERE. I don’t trust you. I _will_ tell my wife. It’s better for her to know, and from me. It will cause her infinite pain—it will humiliate her terribly, but it’s right that she should know. MRS. ERLYNNE. You propose to tell her? LORD WINDERMERE. I am going to tell her. MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Going up to him_.] If you do, I will make my name so infamous that it will mar every moment of her life. It will ruin her, and make her wretched. If you dare to tell her, there is no depth of degradation I will not sink to, no pit of shame I will not enter. You shall not tell her—I forbid you. LORD WINDERMERE. Why? MRS. ERLYNNE. [_After a pause_.] If I said to you that I cared for her, perhaps loved her even—you would sneer at me, wouldn’t you? LORD WINDERMERE. I should feel it was not true. A mother’s love means devotion, unselfishness, sacrifice. What could you know of such things? MRS. ERLYNNE. You are right. What could I know of such things? Don’t let us talk any more about it—as for telling my daughter who I am, that I do not allow. It is my secret, it is not yours. If I make up my mind to tell her, and I think I will, I shall tell her before I leave the house—if not, I shall never tell her. LORD WINDERMERE. [_Angrily_.] Then let me beg of you to leave our house at once. I will make your excuses to Margaret. [_Enter_ LADY WINDERMERE _R._ _She goes over to_ MRS. ERLYNNE _with the photograph in her hand_. LORD WINDERMERE _moves to back of sofa_, _and anxiously watches_ MRS. ERLYNNE _as the scene progresses_.] LADY WINDERMERE. I am so sorry, Mrs. Erlynne, to have kept you waiting. I couldn’t find the photograph anywhere. At last I discovered it in my husband’s dressing-room—he had stolen it. MRS. ERLYNNE. [_Takes the photograph from her and looks at it_.] I am not surprised—it is charming. [_Goes over to sofa with_ LADY WINDERMERE, _and sits down beside her_. _Looks again at the photograph_.] And so that is your little boy! What is he called?