It would, perhaps, be difficult to decide,—between Lord Chiltern and Miss Effingham,—which had been most wrong, or which had been nearest to the right, in the circumstances which had led to their separation. The old lord, wishing to induce his son to undertake work of some sort, and feeling that his own efforts in this direction were worse than useless, had closeted himself with his intended daughter-in-law, and had obtained from her a promise that she would use her influence with her lover. "Of course I think it right that he should do something," Violet had said. "And he will if you bid him," replied the Earl. Violet expressed a great doubt as to this willingness of obedience; but, nevertheless, she promised to do her best, and she did her best. Lord Chiltern, when she spoke to him, knit his brows with an apparent ferocity of anger which his countenance frequently expressed without any intention of ferocity on his part. He was annoyed, but was not savagely disposed to Violet. As he looked at her, however, he seemed to be very savagely disposed. "What is it you would have me do?" he said.
"I would have you choose some occupation, Oswald."
"What occupation? What is it that you mean? Ought I to be a shoemaker?"
"Not that by preference, I should say; but that if you please." When her lover had frowned at her, Violet had resolved,—had strongly determined, with inward assertions of her own rights,—that she would not be frightened by him.
"You are talking nonsense, Violet. You know that I cannot be a shoemaker."
"You may go into Parliament."
"I neither can, nor would I if I could. I dislike the life."
"You might farm."
"I cannot afford it."
"You might,—might do anything. You ought to do something. You know that you ought. You know that your father is right in what he says."