LORD GORING. Really?
MRS. CHEVELEY. [Holding out her handsome arm.] No; but it looks very well on me as a bracelet, doesn't it?
LORD GORING. Yes; much better than when I saw it last.
MRS. CHEVELEY. When did you see it last?
LORD GORING. [Calmly.] Oh, ten years ago, on Lady Berkshire, from whom you stole it.
MRS. CHEVELEY. [Starting.] What do you mean?
LORD GORING. I mean that you stole that ornament from my cousin, Mary Berkshire, to whom I gave it when she was married. Suspicion fell on a wretched servant, who was sent away in disgrace. I recognised it last night. I determined to say nothing about it till I had found the thief.
I have found the thief now, and I have heard her own confession.
MRS. CHEVELEY. [Tossing her head.] It is not true.
LORD GORING. You know it is true. Why, thief is written across your face at this moment.
MRS. CHEVELEY. I will deny the whole affair from beginning to end. I will say that I have never seen this wretched thing, that it was never in my possession.
[MRS. CHEVELEY tries to get the bracelet off her arm, but fails.
LORD GORING looks on amused. Her thin fingers tear at the jewel to no purpose. A curse breaks from her.]
LORD GORING. The drawback of stealing a thing, Mrs. Cheveley, is that one never knows how wonderful the thing that one steals is. You can't get that bracelet off, unless you know where the spring is. And I see you don't know where the spring is. It is rather difficult to find.
MRS. CHEVELEY. You brute! You coward! [She tries again to unclasp the bracelet, but fails.] LORD GORING. Oh! don't use big words. They mean so little.
MRS. CHEVELEY. [Again tears at the bracelet in a paroxysm of rage, with inarticulate sounds. Then stops, and looks at LORD GORING.] What are you going to do?
LORD GORING. I am going to ring for my servant. He is an admirable servant. Always comes in the moment one rings for him. When he comes I will tell him to fetch the police.
MRS. CHEVELEY. [Trembling.] The police? What for?
LORD GORING. To-morrow the Berkshires will prosecute you. That is what the police are for.
MRS. CHEVELEY. [Is now in an agony of physical terror. Her face is distorted. Her mouth awry. A mask has fallen from her. She it, for the moment, dreadful to look at.] Don't do that. I will do anything you want. Anything in the world you want.
LORD GORING. Give me Robert Chiltern's letter.
MRS. CHEVELEY. Stop! Stop! Let me have time to think.