I could have killed it for ever, sent it
back into its tomb, destroyed its record, burned the one witness
against me. You prevented me. No one but you, you know it. And now
what is there before me but public disgrace, ruin, terrible shame,
the mockery of the world, a lonely dishonoured life, a lonely
dishonoured death, it may be, some day? Let women make no more
ideals of men! let them not put them on alters and bow before them,
or they may ruin other lives as completely as you - you whom I have
so wildly loved - have ruined mine!
[He passes from the room. LADY CHILTERN rushes towards him, but the
door is closed when she reaches it. Pale with anguish, bewildered,
helpless, she sways like a plant in the water. Her hands,
outstretched, stem to tremble in the air like blossoms in the mind.
Then she flings herself down beside a sofa and buries her face. Her
sobs are like the sobs of a child.]
ACT DROP
THIRD ACT
SCENE
The Library in Lord Goring's house. An Adam room. On the right is
the door leading into the hall. On the left, the door of the
smoking-room. A pair of folding doors at the back open into the
drawing-room. The fire is lit. Phipps, the butler, is arranging
some newspapers on the writing-table. The distinction of Phipps is
his impassivity. He has been termed by enthusiasts the Ideal Butler.
The Sphinx is not so incommunicable.
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