LORD GORING. I don't know how the betting stands to-day.
LORD CAVERSHAM. If she did accept you she would be the prettiest
fool in England.
LORD GORING. That is just what I should like to marry. A thoroughly
sensible wife would reduce me to a condition of absolute idiocy in
less than six months.
LORD CAVERSHAM. You don't deserve her, sir.
LORD GORING. My dear father, if we men married the women we
deserved, we should have a very bad time of it.
[Enter MABEL CHILTERN.]
MABEL CHILTERN. Oh! . . . How do you do, Lord Caversham? I hope
Lady Caversham is quite well?
LORD CAVERSHAM. Lady Caversham is as usual, as usual.
LORD GORING. Good morning, Miss Mabel!
MABEL CHILTERN. [Taking no notice at all of LORD GORING, and
addressing herself exclusively to LORD CAVERSHAM.] And Lady
Caversham's bonnets . . . are they at all better?
LORD CAVERSHAM. They have had a serious relapse, I am sorry to say.
LORD GORING. Good morning, Miss Mabel!
MABEL CHILTERN. [To LORD CAVERSHAM.] I hope an operation will not
be necessary.
LORD CAVERSHAM. [Smiling at her pertness.] If it is, we shall have
to give Lady Caversham a narcotic. Otherwise she would never consent
to have a feather touched.
LORD GORING. [With increased emphasis.] Good morning, Miss Mabel!
MABEL CHILTERN. [Turning round with feigned surprise.] Oh, are you
here? Of course you understand that after your breaking your
appointment I am never going to speak to you again.
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