An Ideal Husband by Oscar Wilde

lordship’s directions on the subject were very precise.
    MRS. CHEVELEY. [To herself] How thoughtful of him! To expect the unexpected shows a thoroughly modern intellect. [Goes towards the drawing-room and looks in.] Ugh! How dreary a bachelor’s drawing-room always looks. I shall have to alter all this. [PHIPPS brings the lamp from the writing-table.] No, I don’t care for that lamp. It is far too glaring. Light some candles.
    PHIPPS. [Replaces lamp.] Certainly, madam.
    MRS. CHEVELEY. I hope the candles have very becoming shades.
    PHIPPS. We have had no complaints about them, madam, as yet.
    [Passes into the drawing-room and begins to light the candles.]
    MRS. CHEVELEY. [To herself.] I wonder what woman he is waiting for to-night. It will be delightful to catch him. Men always look so silly when they are caught. And they are always being caught. [Looks about room and approaches the writing-table.] What a very interesting room! What a very interesting picture! Wonder what his correspondence is like. [Takes up letters.] Oh, what a very uninteresting correspondence! Bills and cards, debts and dowagers! Who on earth writes to him on pink paper? How silly to write on pink paper! It looks like the beginning of a middle-class romance. Romance should never begin with sentiment. It should begin with science and end with a settlement. [Puts letter down, then takes it up again.] I know that handwriting. That is Gertrude Chiltern’s. I remember it perfectly. The ten commandments in every stroke of the pen, and the moral law all over the page. Wonder what Gertrude is writing to him about? Something horrid about me, I suppose. How I detest that woman! [Reads it.] ‘I trust you. I want you. I am coming to you. Gertrude.’ ‘I trust you. I want you. I am coming to you.’
    [A look of triumph comes over her face. She is just about to steal the letter, when PHIPPS comes in.]
    PHIPPS. The candles in the drawing-room are lit, madam, as you directed.
    MRS. CHEVELEY. Thank you. [Rises hastily and slips the letter under a large silver-cased blotting-book that is lying on the table.]
    PHIPPS. I trust the shades will be to your liking, madam. They are the most becoming we have. They are the same as his lordship uses himself when he is dressing for dinner.
    MRS. CHEVELEY. [With a smile.] Then I am sure they will be perfectly right.
    PHIPPS. [Gravely.] Thank you, madam.
    [MRS. CHEVELEY goes into the drawing-room. PHIPPS closes the door and retires. The door is then slowly opened, and MRS. CHEVELEY comes out and creeps stealthily towards the writing-table. Suddenly voices are heard from the smoking-room. MRS. CHEVELEY grows pale, and stops. The voices grow louder, and she goes back into the drawing-room, biting her lip.]
    [Enter LORD GORING and LORD CAVERSHAM.]
    LORD GORING. [Expostulating.] My dear father, if I am to get married, surely you will allow me to choose the time, place, and person? Particularly the person.
    LORD CAVERSHAM. [Testily.] That is a matter for me, sir. You would probably make a very poor choice. It is I who should be consulted, not you. There is property at stake. It is not a matter for affection. Affection comes later on in married life.
    LORD GORING. Yes. In married life affection comes when people thoroughly dislike each other, father, doesn’t it? [Puts on LORD CAVERSHAM’s cloak for him.]
    LORD CAVERSHAM. Certainly, sir. I mean certainly not, air. You are talking very foolishly to-night. What I say is that marriage is a matter for common sense.
    LORD GORING. But women who have common sense are so curiously plain, father, aren’t they? Of course I only speak from hearsay.
    LORD CAVERSHAM. No woman, plain or pretty, has any common sense at all, sir. Common sense is the privilege of our sex.
    LORD GORING. Quite so. And we men are so self-sacrificing that we never use it, do we, father?
    LORD CAVERSHAM. I use it, sir. I use nothing else.
    LORD GORING. So my mother tells me.
    LORD