Take it from me, Oscar, you have not a ghost of a chance." "Tell me what you mean, Frank, for God's sake," he cried.
"I can tell you in a word," I replied; "you will lose your case.

I have promised not to say more." I tried to persuade him by his vanity.
"You must remember," I said, "that you are a sort of standard bearer for future generations.

If you lose you will make it harder for all writers in England; though God knows it is hard enough already; you will put back the hands of the clock for fifty years." I seemed almost to have persuaded him.

He questioned me: "What is the alternative, Frank, the wisest thing to do in your opinion?
Tell me that." "You ought to go abroad," I replied, "go abroad with your wife, and let Queensberry and his son fight out their own miserable quarrels; they are well-matched." "Oh, Frank," he cried, "how can I do that ?" "Sleep on it," I replied; "I am going to, and we can talk it all over in a day or two." "But I must know," he said wistfully, "to-morrow morning, Frank." "Bernard Shaw is lunching with me to-morrow," I replied, "at the Cafe Royal." He made an impatient movement of his head.
"He usually goes early," I went on, "and if you like to come after three o'clock we can have a talk and consider it all." "May I bring Bosie ?" he enquired.
"I would rather you did not," I replied, "but it is for you to do just as you like.

I don't mind saying what I have to say, before anyone," and on that we parted.
Somehow or other next day at lunch both Shaw and I got interested in our talk, and we were both at the table when Oscar came in.