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.
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