SIR ROBERT CHILTERN is standing in front of the fireplace.
He is evidently in a state of great mental excitement and distress.
As the scene progresses he paces nervously up and down the room.]
LORD GORING. My dear Robert, it's a very awkward business, very
awkward indeed. You should have told your wife the whole thing.
Secrets from other people's wives are a necessary luxury in modern
life. So, at least, I am always told at the club by people who are
bald enough to know better. But no man should have a secret from his
own wife. She invariably finds it out. Women have a wonderful
instinct about things. They can discover everything except the
obvious.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Arthur, I couldn't tell my wife. When could I
have told her? Not last night. It would have made a life-long
separation between us, and I would have lost the love of the one
woman in the world I worship, of the only woman who has ever stirred
love within me. Last night it would have been quite impossible. She
would have turned from me in horror . . . in horror and in contempt.
LORD GORING. Is Lady Chiltern as perfect as all that?
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Yes; my wife is as perfect as all that.
LORD GORING. [Taking off his left-hand glove.] What a pity! I beg
your pardon, my dear fellow, I didn't quite mean that. But if what
you tell me is true, I should like to have a serious talk about life
with Lady Chiltern.
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