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