LORD GORING. [Looking up.] In public charities? Dear me! what a
lot of harm you must have done, Robert!

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Oh, don't say that, Arthur; don't talk like
that!

LORD GORING. Never mind what I say, Robert! I am always saying what
I shouldn't say. In fact, I usually say what I really think. A
great mistake nowadays. It makes one so liable to be misunderstood.
As regards this dreadful business, I will help you in whatever way I
can. Of course you know that.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. Thank you, Arthur, thank you. But what is to
be done? What can be done?

LORD GORING. [Leaning back with his hands in his pockets.] Well,
the English can't stand a man who is always saying he is in the
right, but they are very fond of a man who admits that he has been in
the wrong. It is one of the best things in them. However, in your
case, Robert, a confession would not do. The money, if you will
allow me to say so, is . . . awkward. Besides, if you did make a
clean breast of the whole affair, you would never be able to talk
morality again. And in England a man who can't talk morality twice a
week to a large, popular, immoral audience is quite over as a serious
politician. There would be nothing left for him as a profession
except Botany or the Church. A confession would be of no use. It
would ruin you.

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN. It would ruin me. Arthur, the only thing for
me to do now is to fight the thing out.