EY. [_Trembling_.] The police? What for?

LORD GORING. To-morrow the Berkshires will prosecute you. That is what
the police are for.

MRS. CHEVELEY. [_Is now in an agony of physical terror_. _Her face is
distorted_. _Her mouth awry_. _A mask has fallen from her_. _She it_,
_for the moment_, _dreadful to look at_.] Don't do that. I will do
anything you want. Anything in the world you want.

LORD GORING. Give me Robert Chiltern's letter.

MRS. CHEVELEY. Stop! Stop! Let me have time to think.

LORD GORING. Give me Robert Chiltern's letter.

MRS. CHEVELEY. I have not got it with me. I will give it to you
to-morrow.

LORD GORING. You know you are lying. Give it to me at once. [MRS.
CHEVELEY _pulls the letter out_, _and hands it to him_. _She is horribly
pale_.] This is it?

MRS. CHEVELEY. [_In a hoarse voice_.] Yes.

LORD GORING. [_Takes the letter_, _examines it_, _sighs_, _and burns it
with the lamp_.] For so well-dressed a woman, Mrs. Cheveley, you have
moments of admirable common sense. I congratulate you.

MRS. CHEVELEY. [_Catches sight of_ LADY CHILTERN'S _letter_, _the cover
of which is just showing from under the blotting-book_.] Please get me a
glass of water.

LORD GORING. Certainly. [_Goes to the corner of the room and pours out
a glass of water_. _While his back is turned_ MRS. CHEVELEY _steals_
LADY CHILTERN'S _letter_. _When_ LORD GORING _returns the glass she
refuses it with a gesture_.]

MRS. CHEVELEY. Thank you. Will you help me on with my cloak?

LORD GORING. With pleasure. [_Puts her cloak on_.]

MRS. CHEVELEY. Thanks. I am never going to try to harm Robert Chiltern
again.

LORD GORING. Fortunately you have not the chance, Mrs. Cheveley.

MRS. CHEVELEY. Well, if even I had the chance, I wouldn't. On the
contrary, I am going to render him a great service.

LORD GORING. I am charmed to hear it. It is a reformation.

MRS. CHEVELEY. Yes. I can't bear so upright a gentleman, so honourable
an English gentleman, being so shamefully deceived, and so--

LORD GORING. Well?

MRS. CHEVELEY. I find that somehow Gertrude Chiltern's dying speech and
confession has strayed into my pocket.

LORD GORING. What do you mean?

MRS. CHEVELEY. [_With a bitter note of triumph in her voice_.] I mean
that I am going to send Robert Chiltern the love-letter his wife wrote to
you to-night.

LORD GORING. Love-letter?

MRS. CHEVELEY. [_Laughing_.] 'I w