LADY BASILDON. Terribly trivial! What did your man talk about?

MRS. MARCHMONT. About myself.

LADY BASILDON. [Languidly.] And were you interested?

MRS. MARCHMONT. [Shaking her head.] Not in the smallest degree.

LADY BASILDON. What martyrs we are, dear Margaret!

MRS. MARCHMONT. [Rising.] And how well it becomes us, Olivia!

[They rise and go towards the music-room. The VICOMTE DE NANJAC, a
young attache known for his neckties and his Anglomania, approaches
with a low bow, and enters into conversation.]

MASON. [Announcing guests from the top of the staircase.] Mr. and
Lady Jane Barford. Lord Caversham.

[Enter LORD CAVERSHAM, an old gentleman of seventy, wearing the
riband and star of the Garter. A fine Whig type. Rather like a
portrait by Lawrence.]

LORD CAVERSHAM. Good evening, Lady Chiltern! Has my good-for-
nothing young son been here?

LADY CHILTERN. [Smiling.] I don't think Lord Goring has arrived
yet.

MABEL CHILTERN. [Coming up to LORD CAVERSHAM.] Why do you call Lord