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 a sign of
despair in a woman.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Striking a bell.] But it is worth while my
wiring to Vienna, is it not?
LORD GORING. It is always worth while asking a question, though it
is not always worth while answering one.
[Enter MASON.]
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Is Mr. Trafford in his room?
MASON. Yes, Sir Robert.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [Puts what he has written into an envelope,
which he then carefully closes.] Tell him to have this sent off in
cipher at once. There must not be a moment's delay.
MASON. Yes, Sir Robert.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Oh! just give that back to me again.
[Writes something on the envelope. MASON then goes out with the
letter.]
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. She must have had some curious hold over Baron
Arnheim. I wonder what it was.
LORD GORING. [Smiling.] I wonder.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. I will fight her to the death, as long as my
wife knows nothing.
LORD GORING. [Strongly.] Oh, fight in any case - in any case.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [With a gesture of despair.] If my wife found
out, there would be little left to fight for. Well, as soon as I
hear from Vienna, I shall let you know the result. It is a chance,
just a chance, but I believe in it.
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