Mrs. Arbuthnot. Yes.
Lord Illingworth. Do tell me your reasons. They would interest me enormously.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. I have already explained them to my son.
Lord Illingworth. I suppose they were intensely sentimental, weren’t they? You women live by your emotions and for them. You have no philosophy of life.
Mrs. Arbuthnot. You are right. We women live by our emotions and for them. By our passions, and for them, if you will. I have two passions, Lord Illingworth: my love of him, my hate of you. You cannot kill those. They feed each other.
Lord Illingworth. What sort of love is that which needs to have hate as its brother?
Mrs. Arbuthnot. It is the sort of love I have for Gerald. Do you think that terrible? Well it is terrible. All love is terrible. All love is a tragedy. I loved you once, Lord Illingworth. Oh, what a tragedy for a woman to have loved you!
Lord Illingworth. So you really refuse to marry me?
Mrs. Arbuthnot. Yes.
Lord Illingworth. Because you hate me?