I am of clay like other men. She stands
apart as good women do - pitiless in her perfection - cold and stern
and without mercy. But I love her, Arthur. We are childless, and I
have no one else to love, no one else to love me. Perhaps if God had
sent us children she might have been kinder to me. But God has given
us a lonely house. And she has cut my heart in two. Don't let us
talk of it. I was brutal to her this evening. But I suppose when
sinners talk to saints they are brutal always. I said to her things
that were hideously true, on my side, from my stand-point, from the
standpoint of men. But don't let us talk of that
LORD GORING. Your wife will forgive you. Perhaps at this moment she
is forgiving you. She loves you, Robert. Why should she not
forgive?
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. God grant it! God grant it! [Buries his face
in his hands.] But there is something more I have to tell you,
Arthur.
[Enter PHIPPS with drinks.]
PHIPPS. [Hands hock and seltzer to SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.] Hock and
seltzer, sir.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Thank you.
LORD GORING. Is your carriage here, Robert?
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. No; I walked from the club.
LORD GORING. Sir Robert will take my cab, Phipps.
PHIPPS. Yes, my lord. [Exit.]
LORD GORING. Robert, you don't mind my sending you away?
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Arthur, you must let me stay for five minutes.
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