actually staying for a whole week with you in your house as a
guest. I call it grotesque.
JACK. You are certainly not staying with me for a whole week as a
guest or anything else. You have got to leave . . . by the four-
five train.
ALGERNON. I certainly won't leave you so long as you are in
mourning. It would be most unfriendly. If I were in
mourning you
would stay with me, I suppose. I should think it very
unkind if
you didn't.
JACK. Well, will you go if I change my clothes?
ALGERNON. Yes, if you are not too long. I never saw anybody take
so long to dress, and with such little result.
JACK. Well, at any rate, that is better than being always over-
dressed as you are.
ALGERNON. If I am
occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up
for it by being always
immensely over-educated.
JACK. Your
vanity is
ridiculous, your conduct an
outrage, and your
presence in my garden utterly
absurd. However, you have got to
catch the four-five, and I hope you will have a pleasant journey
back to town. This Bunburying, as you call it, has not been a
great success for you.
[Goes into the house.]
ALGERNON. I think it has been a great success. I'm in love with
Cecily, and that is everything.
[Enter CECILY at the back of the garden. She picks up the can and
begins to water the flowers.] But I must see her before I go, and
make arrangements for another Bunbury. Ah, there she is.
CECILY. Oh, I merely came back to water the roses. I thought you
were with Uncle Jack.
ALGERNON. He's gone to order the dog-cart for me.
CECILY. Oh, is he going to take you for a nice drive?
ALGERNON. He's going to send me away.
CECILY. Then have we got to part?
ALGERNON. I am afraid so. It's a very
painful parting.
CECILY. It is always
painful to part from people whom one has
known for a very brief space of time. The
absence of old friends
one can
endure with equanimity. But even a
momentary separation
from anyone to whom one has just been introduced is almost
unbearable.
ALGERNON. Thank you.
[Enter MERRIMAN.]
MERRIMAN. The dog-cart is at the door, sir. [ALGERNON looks
appealingly at CECILY.]
CECILY. It can wait, Merriman for . . . five minutes.
MERRIMAN. Yes, Miss. [Exit MERRIMAN.]
ALGERNON. I hope, Cecily, I shall not
offend you if I state quite
frankly and
openly that you seem to me to be in every way the
visible personification of
absolute perfection.
CECILY. I think your
frankness does you great credit, Ernest. If
you will allow me, I will copy your remarks into my diary. [Goes
over to table and begins
writing in diary.]
ALGERNON. Do you really keep a diary? I'd give anything to look
at it. May I?
CECILY. Oh no. [Puts her hand over it.] You see, it is simply a
very young girl's record of her own thoughts and impressions, and
consequently meant for
publication. When it appears in
volume form
I hope you will order a copy. But pray, Ernest, don't stop. I
delight in
taking down from dictation. I have reached '
absoluteperfection'. You can go on. I am quite ready for more.
ALGERNON. [Somewhat taken aback.] Ahem! Ahem!
CECILY. Oh, don't cough, Ernest. When one is dictating one should
speak fluently and not cough. Besides, I don't know how to spell a
cough. [Writes as ALGERNON speaks.]
ALGERNON. [Speaking very rapidly.] Cecily, ever since I first
looked upon your wonderful and
incomparable beauty, I have dared to
love you wildly,
passionately, devotedly,
hopelessly.
CECILY. I don't think that you should tell me that you love me
wildly,
passionately, devotedly,
hopelessly. Hopelessly doesn't
seem to make much sense, does it?
ALGERNON. Cecily!
[Enter MERRIMAN.]
MERRIMAN. The dog-cart is
waiting, sir.
ALGERNON. Tell it to come round next week, at the same hour.
MERRIMAN. [Looks at CECILY, who makes no sign.] Yes, sir.
[MERRIMAN retires.]
CECILY. Uncle Jack would be very much annoyed if he knew you were
staying on till next week, at the same hour.
ALGERNON. Oh, I don't care about Jack. I don't care for anybody
in the whole world but you. I love you, Cecily. You will marry
me, won't you?
CECILY. You silly boy! Of course. Why, we have been engaged for
the last three months.
ALGERNON. For the last three months?
CECILY. Yes, it will be exactly three months on Thursday.
ALGERNON. But how did we become engaged?
CECILY. Well, ever since dear Uncle Jack first confessed to us
that he had a younger brother who was very
wicked and bad, you of
course have formed the chief topic of conversation between myself
and Miss Prism. And of course a man who is much talked about is
always very
attractive. One feels there must be something in him,
after all. I daresay it was foolish of me, but I fell in love with
you, Ernest.
ALGERNON. Darling! And when was the
engagementactually settled?
CECILY. On the 14th of February last. Worn out by your entire
ignorance of my
existence, I determined to end the matter one way
or the other, and after a long struggle with myself I accepted you
under this dear old tree here. The next day I bought this little
ring in your name, and this is the little bangle with the true
lover's knot I promised you always to wear.
ALGERNON. Did I give you this? It's very pretty, isn't it?
CECILY. Yes, you've
wonderfully good taste, Ernest. It's the
excuse I've always given for your leading such a bad life. And
this is the box in which I keep all your dear letters. [Kneels at
table, opens box, and produces letters tied up with blue ribbon.]
ALGERNON. My letters! But, my own sweet Cecily, I have never
written you any letters.
CECILY. You need hardly
remind me of that, Ernest. I remember
only too well that I was forced to write your letters for you. I
wrote always three times a week, and sometimes oftener.
ALGERNON. Oh, do let me read them, Cecily?
CECILY. Oh, I couldn't possibly. They would make you far too
conceited. [Replaces box.] The three you wrote me after I had
broken of the
engagement are so beautiful, and so badly spelled,
that even now I can hardly read them without crying a little.
ALGERNON. But was our
engagement ever broken off?
CECILY. Of course it was. On the 22nd of last March. You can see
the entry if you like. [Shows diary.] 'To-day I broke off my
engagement with Ernest. I feel it is better to do so. The weather
still continues charming.'
ALGERNON. But why on earth did you break it of? What had I done?
I had done nothing at all. Cecily, I am very much hurt indeed to
hear you broke it off. Particularly when the weather was so
charming.
CECILY. It would hardly have been a really serious
engagement if
it hadn't been broken off at least once. But I forgave you before
the week was out.
ALGERNON. [Crossing to her, and kneeling.] What a perfect angel
you are, Cecily.
CECILY. You dear
romantic boy. [He kisses her, she puts her
fingers through his hair.] I hope your hair curls naturally, does
it?
ALGERNON. Yes,
darling, with a little help from others.
CECILY. I am so glad.
ALGERNON. You'll never break of our
engagement again, Cecily?
CECILY. I don't think I could break it off now that I have
actually met you. Besides, of course, there is the question of
your name.
ALGERNON. Yes, of course. [Nervously.]
CECILY. You must not laugh at me,
darling, but it had always been
a girlish dream of mine to love some one whose name was Ernest.
[ALGERNON rises, CECILY also.] There is something in that name
that seems to
inspireabsolute confidence. I pity any poor married
woman whose husband is not called Ernest.
ALGERNON. But, my dear child, do you mean to say you could not
love me if I had some other name?
CECILY. But what name?
ALGERNON. Oh, any name you like - Algernon - for
instance . . .
CECILY. But I don't like the name of Algernon.
ALGERNON. Well, my own dear, sweet,
loving little
darling, I
really can't see why you should object to the name of Algernon. It
is not at all a bad name. In fact, it is rather an aristocratic
name. Half of the chaps who get into the Bankruptcy Court are
called Algernon. But
seriously, Cecily . . . [Moving to her] . . .
if my name was Algy, couldn't you love me?
CECILY. [Rising.] I might respect you, Ernest, I might admire
your
character, but I fear that I should not be able to give you my
undivided attention.
ALGERNON. Ahem! Cecily! [Picking up hat.] Your Rector here is,
I suppose,
thoroughlyexperienced in the practice of all the rites
and ceremonials of the Church?
CECILY. Oh, yes. Dr. Chasuble is a most
learned man. He has
never written a single book, so you can imagine how much he knows.
ALGERNON. I must see him at once on a most important christening -
I mean on most important business.
CECILY. Oh!
ALGERNON. I shan't be away more than half an hour.
CECILY. Considering that we have been engaged since February the
14th, and that I only met you to-day for the first time, I think it
is rather hard that you should leave me for so long a period as
half an hour. Couldn't you make it twenty minutes?
ALGERNON. I'll be back in no time.
[Kisses her and rushes down the garden.]
CECILY. What an
impetuous boy he is! I like his hair so much. I
must enter his proposal in my diary.
[Enter MERRIMAN.]
MERRIMAN. A Miss Fairfax has just called to see Mr. Worthing. On
very important business, Miss Fairfax states.
CECILY. Isn't Mr. Worthing in his library?
MERRIMAN. Mr. Worthing went over in the direction of the Rectory
some time ago.
CECILY. Pray ask the lady to come out here; Mr. Worthing is sure
to be back soon. And you can bring tea.
MERRIMAN. Yes, Miss. [Goes out.]
CECILY. Miss Fairfax! I suppose one of the many good elderly
women who are associated with Uncle Jack in some of his
philanthropic work in London. I don't quite like women who are
interested in philanthropic work. I think it is so forward of
them.
[Enter MERRIMAN.]
MERRIMAN. Miss Fairfax.
[Enter GWENDOLEN.]
[Exit MERRIMAN.]
CECILY. [Advancing to meet her.] Pray let me introduce myself to
you. My name is Cecily Cardew.
GWENDOLEN. Cecily Cardew? [Moving to her and shaking hands.]
What a very sweet name! Something tells me that we are going to be
great friends. I like you already more than I can say. My first
impressions of people are never wrong.
CECILY. How nice of you to like me so much after we have known
each other such a
comparatively short time. Pray sit down.
GWENDOLEN. [Still
standing up.] I may call you Cecily, may I not?