. Did you know her well?

LORD GORING. [_Arranging his necktie_.] So little that I got engaged to
be married to her once, when I was staying at the Tenbys'. The affair
lasted for three days . . . nearly.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Why was it broken off?

LORD GORING. [_Airily_.] Oh, I forget. At least, it makes no matter.
By the way, have you tried her with money? She used to be confoundedly
fond of money.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I offered her any sum she wanted. She refused.

LORD GORING. Then the marvellous gospel of gold breaks down sometimes.
The rich can't do everything, after all.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Not everything. I suppose you are right. Arthur,
I feel that public disgrace is in store for me. I feel certain of it. I
never knew what terror was before. I know it now. It is as if a hand of
ice were laid upon one's heart. It is as if one's heart were beating
itself to death in some empty hollow.

LORD GORING. [_Striking the table_.] Robert, you must fight her. You
must fight her.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. But how?

LORD GORING. I can't tell you how at present. I have not the smallest
idea. But every one has some weak point. There is some flaw in each one
of us. [_Strolls to the fireplace and looks at himself in the glass_.]
My father tells me that even I have faults. Perhaps I have. I don't
know.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. In defending myself against Mrs. Cheveley, I have a
right to use any weapon I can find, have I not?

LORD GORING. [_Still looking in the glass_.] In your place I don't
think I should have the smallest scruple in doing so. She is thoroughly
well able to take care of herself.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Sits down at the table and takes a pen in his
hand_.] Well, I shall send a cipher telegram to the Embassy at Vienna,
to inquire if there is anything known against her. There may be some
secret scandal she might be afraid of.

LORD GORING. [_Settling his buttonhole_.] Oh, I should fancy Mrs.
Cheveley is one of those very modern women of our time who find a new
scandal as becoming as a new bonnet, and air them both in the Park every
afternoon at five-thirty. I am sure she adores scandals, and that the
sorrow of her life at present is that she can't manage to have enough of
them.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Writing_.] Why do you say that?

LORD GORING. [_Turning round_.] Well, she wore far too much rouge last
night, and not quite enough clothes. That is always