An Ideal Husband | Page 3

some violence of will-power. There is
nervousness in the nostrils, and in the pale, thin, pointed hands. It would be inaccurate to
call him picturesque. Picturesqueness cannot survive the House of Commons. But
Vandyck would have liked to have painted his head.]
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Good evening, Lady Markby! I hope you have brought Sir
John with you?
LADY MARKBY. Oh! I have brought a much more charming person than Sir John. Sir

John's temper since he has taken seriously to politics has become quite unbearable.
Really, now that the House of Commons is trying to become useful, it does a great deal
of harm.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I hope not, Lady Markby. At any rate we do our best to
waste the public time, don't we? But who is this charming person you have been kind
enough to bring to us?
LADY MARKBY. Her name is Mrs. Cheveley! One of the Dorsetshire Cheveleys, I
suppose. But I really don't know. Families are so mixed nowadays. Indeed, as a rule,
everybody turns out to be somebody else.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Mrs. Cheveley? I seem to know the name.
LADY MARKBY. She has just arrived from Vienna.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Ah! yes. I think I know whom you mean.
LADY MARKBY. Oh! she goes everywhere there, and has such pleasant scandals about
all her friends. I really must go to Vienna next winter. I hope there is a good chef at the
Embassy.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. If there is not, the Ambassador will certainly have to be
recalled. Pray point out Mrs. Cheveley to me. I should like to see her.
LADY MARKBY. Let me introduce you. [To MRS. CHEVELEY.] My dear, Sir Robert
Chiltern is dying to know you!
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Bowing.] Every one is dying to know the brilliant Mrs.
Cheveley. Our attaches at Vienna write to us about nothing else.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Thank you, Sir Robert. An acquaintance that begins with a
compliment is sure to develop into a real friendship. It starts in the right manner. And I
find that I know Lady Chiltern already.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Really?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Yes. She has just reminded me that we were at school together. I
remember it perfectly now. She always got the good conduct prize. I have a distinct
recollection of Lady Chiltern always getting the good conduct prize!
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Smiling.] And what prizes did you get, Mrs. Cheveley?
MRS. CHEVELEY. My prizes came a little later on in life. I don't think any of them
were for good conduct. I forget!
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I am sure they were for something charming!
MRS. CHEVELEY. I don't know that women are always rewarded for being charming. I

think they are usually punished for it! Certainly, more women grow old nowadays
through the faithfulness of their admirers than through anything else! At least that is the
only way I can account for the terribly haggard look of most of your pretty women in
London!
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. What an appalling philosophy that sounds! To attempt to
classify you, Mrs. Cheveley, would be an impertinence. But may I ask, at heart, are you
an optimist or a pessimist? Those seem to be the only two fashionable religions left to us
nowadays.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Oh, I'm neither. Optimism begins in a broad grin, and Pessimism
ends with blue spectacles. Besides, they are both of them merely poses.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. You prefer to be natural?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Sometimes. But it is such a very difficult pose to keep up.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. What would those modern psychological novelists, of whom
we hear so much, say to such a theory as that?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Ah! the strength of women comes from the fact that psychology
cannot explain us. Men can be analysed, women . . . merely adored.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. You think science cannot grapple with the problem of
women?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Science can never grapple with the irrational. That is why it has no
future before it, in this world.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. And women represent the irrational.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Well-dressed women do.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [With a polite bow.] I fear I could hardly agree with you
there. But do sit down. And now tell me, what makes you leave your brilliant Vienna for
our gloomy London - or perhaps the question is indiscreet?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Questions are never indiscreet. Answers sometimes are.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Well, at any rate, may I know if it is politics or pleasure?
MRS. CHEVELEY. Politics are my only pleasure. You see nowadays it is not
fashionable to flirt till one is forty, or to be romantic till one is forty-five, so we poor
women who are under thirty, or say we are, have nothing open to us but politics or