LORD GORING. To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance, Phipps.
LORD GORING. [Looking at himself in the glass.] Don't think I quite like this
buttonhole, Phipps. Makes me look a little too old. Makes me almost in the prime
of life, eh, Phipps?
PHIPPS. I don't observe any alteration in your lordship's appearance.
LORD GORING. You don't, Phipps?
LORD GORING. I am not quite sure. For the future a more trivial buttonhole,
Phipps, on Thursday evenings.
PHIPPS. I will speak to the florist, my lord. She has had a loss in her family
lately, which perhaps accounts for the lack of triviality your lordship complains of
in the buttonhole.
LORD GORING. Extraordinary thing about the lower classes in England - they
are always losing their relations.
PHIPPS. Yes, my lord! They are extremely fortunate in that respect.
LORD GORING. [Turns round and looks at him. PHIPPS remains impassive.]
Hum! Any letters, Phipps?
PHIPPS. Three, my lord. [Hands letters on a salver.]
LORD GORING. [Takes letters.] Want my cab round in twenty minutes.
PHIPPS. Yes, my lord. [Goes towards door.]
LORD GORING. [Holds up letter in pink envelope.] Ahem! Phipps, when did this
letter arrive?
PHIPPS. It was brought by hand just after your lordship went to the club.
LORD GORING. That will do. [Exit PHIPPS.] Lady Chiltern's handwriting on Lady
Chiltern's pink notepaper. That is rather curious. I thought Robert was to write.
Wonder what Lady Chiltern has got to say to me? [Sits at bureau and opens
letter, and reads it.] 'I want you. I trust you. I am coming to you. Gertrude.' [Puts
