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.