nice domestic creatures--plain, dreadfully plain, but so good--
well, they're always at the window doing fancy work, and making
ugly things for the poor, which I think so useful of them in these
dreadful socialistic days, and this terrible woman has taken a
house in Curzon Street, right opposite them--such a respectable
street, too! I don't know what we're coming to! And they tell me
that Windermere goes there four and five times a week--they SEE
him. They can't help it--and although they never talk scandal,
they--well, of course--they remark on it to every one. And the
worst of it all is that I have been told that this woman has got a
great deal of money out of somebody, for it seems that she came to
London six months ago without anything at all to speak of, and now
she has this charming house in Mayfair, drives her ponies in the
Park every afternoon and all--well, all--since she has known poor
dear Windermere.

LADY WINDERMERE. Oh, I can't believe it!

DUCHESS OF BERWICK. But it's quite true, my dear. The whole of
London knows it. That is why I felt it was better to come and talk
to you, and advise you to take Windermere away at once to Homburg
or to Aix, where he'll have something to amuse him, and where you
can watch him all day long. I assure you, my dear, that on several
occasions after I was first married, I had to pretend to be very
ill, and was obliged to drink the most unpleasant mineral waters,
merely to get Berwick out of town. He was so extremely
susceptible. Though I am bound to say he never gave away any large
sums of money to anybody. He is far too high-principled for that!

LADY WINDERMERE. [Interrupting.] Duchess, Duchess, it's