LORD GORING. [_Pulling himself together for a great effort_, _and showing the philosopher that underlies the dandy_.] Lady Chiltern, allow me. You wrote me a letter last night in which you said you trusted me and wanted my help. Now is the moment when you really want my help, now is the time when you have got to trust me, to trust in my counsel and judgment. You love Robert. Do you want to kill his love for you? What sort of existence will he have if you rob him of the fruits of his ambition, if you take him from the splendour of a great political career, if you close the doors of public life against him, if you condemn him to sterile failure, he who was made for triumph and success? Women are not meant to judge us, but to forgive us when we need forgiveness. Pardon, not punishment, is their mission. Why should you scourge him with rods for a sin done in his youth, before he knew you, before he knew himself? A man’s life is of more value than a woman’s. It has larger issues, wider scope, greater ambitions. A woman’s life revolves in curves of emotions. It is upon lines of intellect that a man’s life progresses. Don’t make any terrible mistake, Lady Chiltern. A woman who can keep a man’s love, and love him in return, has done all the world wants of women, or should want of them. LADY CHILTERN. [_Troubled and hesitating_.] But it is my husband himself who wishes to retire from public life. He feels it is his duty. It was he who first said so. LORD GORING. Rather than lose your love, Robert would do anything, wreck his whole career, as he is on the brink of doing now. He is making for you a terrible sacrifice. Take my advice, Lady Chiltern, and do not accept a sacrifice so great. If you do, you will live to repent it bitterly. We men and women are not made to accept such sacrifices from each other. We are not worthy of them. Besides, Robert has been punished enough. LADY CHILTERN. We have both been punished. I set him up too high. LORD GORING. [_With deep feeling in his voice_.] Do not for that reason set him down now too low. If he has fallen from his altar, do not thrust him into the mire. Failure to Robert would be the very mire of shame. Power is his passion. He would lose everything, even his power to feel love. Your husband’s life is at this moment in your hands, your husband’s love is in your hands. Don’t mar both for him. [_Enter_ SIR ROBERT CHILTERN.] SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Gertrude, here is the draft of my letter. Shall I read it to you? LADY CHILTERN. Let me see it. [SIR ROBERT _hands her the letter_. _She reads it_, _and then_, _with a gesture of passion_, _tears it up_.] SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. What are you doing?