Mrs. Erlynne. Yes; I am going to live abroad again. The English climate doesn’t suit me. My—heart is affected here, and that I don’t like. I prefer living in the south. London is too full of fogs and—and serious people, Lord Windermere. Whether the fogs produce the serious people or whether the serious people produce the fogs, I don’t know, but the whole thing rather gets on my nerves, and so I’m leaving this afternoon by the Club Train.
Lady Windermere. This afternoon? But I wanted so much to come and see you.
Mrs. Erlynne. How kind of you! But I am afraid I have to go.
Lady Windermere. Shall I never see you again, Mrs. Erlynne?
Mrs. Erlynne. I am afraid not. Our lives lie too far apart. But there is a little thing I would like you to do for me. I want a photograph of you, Lady Windermere—would you give me one? You don’t know how gratified I should be.
Lady Windermere. Oh, with pleasure. There is one on that table. I’ll show it to you. [Goes across to the table.]
Lord Windermere. [Coming up to Mrs. Erlynne and speaking in a low voice.] It is monstrous your intruding yourself here after your conduct last night.
Mrs. Erlynne. [With an amused smile.] My dear Windermere, manners before morals!
Lady Windermere. [Returning.] I’m afraid it is very flattering—I am not so pretty as that. [Showing photograph.]
Mrs. Erlynne. You are much prettier. But haven’t you got one of yourself with your little boy?