LORD GORING. But women who have common sense are so curiously plain, father, aren’t they? Of course I only speak from hearsay. LORD CAVERSHAM. No woman, plain or pretty, has any common sense at all, sir. Common sense is the privilege of our sex. LORD GORING. Quite so. And we men are so self-sacrificing that we never use it, do we, father? LORD CAVERSHAM. I use it, sir. I use nothing else. LORD GORING. So my mother tells me. LORD CAVERSHAM. It is the secret of your mother’s happiness. You are very heartless, sir, very heartless. LORD GORING. I hope not, father. [_Goes out for a moment_. _Then returns_, _looking rather put out_, _with_ SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.] SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. My dear Arthur, what a piece of good luck meeting you on the doorstep! Your servant had just told me you were not at home. How extraordinary! LORD GORING. The fact is, I am horribly busy to-night, Robert, and I gave orders I was not at home to any one. Even my father had a comparatively cold reception. He complained of a draught the whole time. SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Ah! you must be at home to me, Arthur. You are my best friend. Perhaps by to-morrow you will be my only friend. My wife has discovered everything. LORD GORING. Ah! I guessed as much! SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Looking at him_.] Really! How? LORD GORING. [_After some hesitation_.] Oh, merely by something in the expression of your face as you came in. Who told her? SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Mrs. Cheveley herself. And the woman I love knows that I began my career with an act of low dishonesty, that I built up my life upon sands of shame—that I sold, like a common huckster, the secret that had been intrusted to me as a man of honour. I thank heaven poor Lord Radley died without knowing that I betrayed him. I would to God I had died before I had been so horribly tempted, or had fallen so low. [_Burying his face in his hands_.] LORD GORING. [_After a pause_.] You have heard nothing from Vienna yet, in answer to your wire? SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. [_Looking up_.] Yes; I got a telegram from the first secretary at eight o’clock to-night. LORD GORING. Well? SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Nothing is absolutely known against her. On the contrary, she occupies a rather high position in society. It is a sort of open secret that Baron Arnheim left her the greater portion of his immense fortune. Beyond that I can learn nothing. LORD GORING. She doesn’t turn out to be a spy, then? SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Oh! spies are of no use nowadays. Their profession is over. The newspapers do their work instead. LORD GORING. And thunderingly well they do it. SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Arthur, I am parched with thirst. May I ring for something? Some hock and seltzer? LORD GORING. Certainly. Let me. [_Rings the bell_.]