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. 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. And as I fought the age with its own weapons, I will fight her with her weapons. It is only fair, and she looks like a woman with a past, doesn’t she? LORD GORING. Most pretty women do. But there is a fashion in pasts just as there is a fashion in frocks. Perhaps Mrs. Cheveley’s past is merely a slightly décolleté one, and they are excessively popular nowadays. Besides, my dear Robert, I should not build too high hopes on frightening Mrs. Cheveley. I should not fancy Mrs. Cheveley is a woman who would be easily frightened. She has survived all her creditors, and she shows wonderful presence of mind.