SECOND ACT

SCENE

Garden at the Manor House.  A flight of grey stone steps leads up to the
house.  The garden, an old-fashioned one, full of roses.  Time of year,
July.  Basket chairs, and a table covered with books, are set under a
large yew-tree.

[Miss Prism discovered seated at the table.  Cecily is at the back
watering flowers.]

Miss Prism.  [Calling.]  Cecily, Cecily!  Surely such a utilitarian
occupation as the watering of flowers is rather Moulton's duty than
yours?  Especially at a moment when intellectual pleasures await you.
Your German grammar is on the table.  Pray open it at page fifteen.  We
will repeat yesterday's lesson.

Cecily.  [Coming over very slowly.]  But I don't like German.  It isn't
at all a becoming language.  I know perfectly well that I look quite
plain after my German lesson.

Miss Prism.  Child, you know how anxious your guardian is that you should
improve yourself in every way.  He laid particular stress on your German,
as he was leaving for town yesterday.  Indeed, he always lays stress on
your German when he is leaving for town.

Cecily.  Dear Uncle Jack is so very serious!  Sometimes he is so serious
that I think he cannot be quite well.

Miss Prism.  [Drawing herself up.]  Your guardian enjoys the best of
health, and his gravity of demeanour is especially to be commended in one
so comparatively young as he is.  I know no one who has a higher sense of
duty and responsibility.

Cecily.  I suppose that is why he often looks a little bored when we
three are together.

Miss Prism.  Cecily!  I am surprised at you.  Mr. Worthing has many
troubles in his life.  Idle merriment and triviality would be out of
place in his conversation.  You must remember his constant anxiety about
that unfortunate young man his brother.

Cecily.  I wish Uncle Jack would allow that unfortunate young man, his
brother, to come down here sometimes.  We might have a good influence
over him, Miss Prism.  I am sure you certainly would.  You know German,
and geology, and things of that kind influence a man very much.  [Cecily
begins to write in her diary.]

Miss Prism.  [Shaking her head.]  I do not think that even I could
produce any effect on a character that according to his own brother's
admission is irretrievably weak and vacillating.  Indeed I am not sure
that I would desire to reclaim him.  I am not in favour of this modern
mania for turning bad people into good people at a moment's notice.  As a
man sows so let him reap.  You must put away your diary, Cecily.  I
really don't see why you should keep a diary at all.

Cecily.  I keep a diary in order to enter the wonderful secrets of my
life.  If I didn't write them down, I should probably forget all about
them.

Miss Prism.  Memory, my dear Cecily, is the diary that we all carry about
with us.

Cecily.  Yes, but it usually chronicles the things that have never
happened, and couldn't possibly have happened.  I believe that Memory is
responsible for nearly all the three-volume novels that Mudie sends us.

Miss Prism.  Do not speak slightingly of the three-volume novel, Cecily.
I wrote one myself in earlier days.

Cecily.  Did you really, Miss Prism?  How wonderfully clever you are!  I
hope it did not end happily?  I don't like novels that end happily.  They
depress me so much.

Miss Prism.  The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily.  That is what
Fiction means.

Cecily.  I suppose so.  But it seems very unfair.  And was your novel
ever published?

Miss Prism.  Alas! no.  The manuscript unfortunately was abandoned.
[Cecily starts.]  I use the word in the sense of lost or mislaid.  To
your work, child, these speculations are profitless.

Cecily.  [Smiling.]  But I see dear Dr. Chasuble coming up through the
garden.

Miss Prism.  [Rising and advancing.]  Dr. Chasuble!  This is indeed a
pleasure.

[Enter Canon Chasuble.]

Chasuble.  And how are we this morning?  Miss Prism, you are, I trust,
well?

Cecily.  Miss Prism has just been complaining of a slight headache.  I
think it would do her so much good to have a short stroll with you in the
Park, Dr. Chasuble.

Miss Prism.  Cecily, I have not mentioned anything about a headache.

Cecily.  No, dear Miss Prism, I know that, but I felt instinctively that
you had a headache.  Indeed I was thinking about that, and not about my
German lesson, when the Rector came in.

Chasuble.  I hope, Cecily, you are not inattentive.

Cecily.  Oh, I am afraid I am.

Chasuble.  That is strange.  Were I fortunate enough to be Miss Prism's
pupil, I would hang upon her lips.  [Miss Prism glares.]  I spoke
metaphorically.--My metaphor was drawn from bees.  Ahem!  Mr. Worthing, I
suppose, has not returned from town yet?

Miss Prism.  We do not expect him till Monday afternoon.

Chasuble.  Ah yes, he usually likes to spend his Sunday in London.  He is
not one of those whose sole aim is enjoyment, as, by all accounts, that
unfortunate young man his brother seems to be.  But I must not disturb
Egeria and her pupil any longer.

Miss Prism.  Egeria?  My name is Laetitia, Doctor.

Chasuble.  [Bowing.]  A classical allusion merely, drawn from the Pagan
authors.  I shall see you both no doubt at Evensong?

Miss Prism.  I think, dear Doctor, I will have a stroll with you.  I find
I have a headache after all, and a walk might do it good.

Chasuble.  With pleasure, Miss Prism, with pleasure.  We might go as far
as the schools and back.

Miss Prism.  That would be delightful.  Cecily, you will read your
Political Economy in my absence.  The chapter on the Fall of the Rupee
you may omit.  It is somewhat too sensational.  Even these metallic
problems have their melodramatic side.

[Goes down the garden with Dr. Chasuble.]

Cecily.  [Picks up books and throws them back on table.]  Horrid
Political Economy!  Horrid Geography!  Horrid, horrid German!

[Enter Merriman with a card on a salver.]

Merriman.  Mr. Ernest Worthing has just driven over from the station.  He
has brought his luggage with him.

Cecily.  [Takes the card and reads it.]  'Mr. Ernest Worthing, B. 4, The
Albany, W.'  Uncle Jack's brother!  Did you tell him Mr. Worthing was in
town?

Merriman.  Yes, Miss.  He seemed very much disappointed.  I mentioned
that you and Miss Prism were in the garden.  He said he was anxious to
speak to you privately for a moment.

Cecily.  Ask Mr. Ernest Worthing to come here.  I suppose you had better
talk to the housekeeper about a room for him.

Merriman.  Yes, Miss.

[Merriman goes off.]

Cecily.  I have never met any really wicked person before.  I feel rather
frightened.  I am so afraid he will look just like every one else.

[Enter Algernon, very gay and debonnair.]  He does!

Algernon.  [Raising his hat.]  You are my little cousin Cecily, I'm sure.

Cecily.  You are under some strange mistake.  I am not little.  In fact,
I believe I am more than usually tall for my age.  [Algernon is rather
taken aback.]  But I am your cousin Cecily.  You, I see from your card,
are Uncle Jack's brother, my cousin Ernest, my wicked cousin Ernest.

Algernon.  Oh! I am not really wicked at all, cousin Cecily.  You mustn't
think that I am wicked.

Cecily.  If you are not, then you have certainly been deceiving us all in
a very inexcusable manner.  I hope you have not been leading a double
life, pretending to be wicked and being really good all the time.  That
would be hypocrisy.

Algernon.  [Looks at her in amazement.]  Oh!  Of course I have been
rather reckless.

Cecily.  I am glad to hear it.

Algernon.  In fact, now you mention the subject, I have been very bad in
my own small way.

Cecily.  I don't think you should be so proud of that, though I am sure
it must have been very pleasant.

Algernon.  It is much pleasanter being here with you.

Cecily.  I can't understand how you are here at all.  Uncle Jack won't be
back till Monday afternoon.

Algernon.  That is a great disappointment.  I am obliged to go up by the
first train on Monday morning.  I have a business appointment that I am
anxious . . . to miss?

Cecily.  Couldn't you miss it anywhere but in London?

Algernon.  No: the appointment is in London.

Cecily.  Well, I know, of course, how important it is not to keep a
business engagement, if one wants to retain any sense of the beauty of
life, but still I think you had better wait till Uncle Jack arrives.  I
know he wants to speak to you about your emigrating.

Algernon.  About my what?

Cecily.  Your emigrating.  He has gone up to buy your outfit.

Algernon.  I certainly wouldn't let Jack buy my outfit.  He has no taste
in neckties at all.

Cecily.  I don't think you will require neckties.  Uncle Jack is sending
you to Australia.

Algernon.  Australia!  I'd sooner die.

Cecily.  Well, he said at dinner on Wednesday night, that you would have
to choose between this world, the next world, and Australia.

Algernon.  Oh, well!  The accounts I have received of Australia and the
next world, are not particularly encouraging.  This world is good enough
for me, cousin Cecily.

Cecily.  Yes, but are you good enough for it?

Algernon.  I'm afraid I'm not that.  That is why I want you to reform me.
You might make that your mission, if you don't mind, cousin Cecily.

Cecily.  I'm afraid I've no time, this afternoon.

Algernon.  Well, would you mind my reforming myself this afternoon?

Cecily.  It is rather Quixotic of you.  But I think you should try.

Algernon.  I will.  I feel better already.

Cecily.  You are looking a little worse.

Algernon.  That is because I am hungry.

Cecily.  How thoughtless of me.  I should have remembered that when one
is going to lead an entirely new life, one requires regular and wholesome
meals.  Won't you come in?

Algernon.  Thank you.  Might I have a buttonhole first?  I never have any
appetite unless I have a buttonhole first.

Cecily.  A Marechal Niel?  [Picks up scissors.]

Algernon.  No, I'd sooner have a pink rose.

Cecily.  Why?  [Cuts a flower.]

Algernon.  Because you are like a pink rose, Cousin Cecily.

Cecily.  I don't think it can be right for you to talk to me like that.
Miss Prism never says such things to me.

Algernon.  Then Miss Prism is a short-sighted old lady.  [Cecily puts the
rose in his buttonhole.]  You are the prettiest girl I ever saw.

Cecily.  Miss Prism says that all good looks are a snare.

Algernon.  They are a snare that every sensible man would like to be
caught in.

Cecily.  Oh, I don't think I would care to catch a sensible man.  I
shouldn't know what to talk to him about.

[They pass into the house.  Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble return.]

Miss Prism.  You are too much alone, dear Dr. Chasuble.  You should get
married.  A misanthrope I can understand--a womanthrope, never!

Chasuble.  [With a scholar's shudder.]  Believe me, I do not deserve so
neologistic a phrase.  The precept as well as the practice of the
Primitive Church was distinctly against matrimony.

Miss Prism.  [Sententiously.]  That is obviously the reason why the
Primitive Church has not lasted up to the present day.  And you do not
seem to realise, dear Doctor, that by persistently remaining single, a
man converts himself into a permanent public temptation.  Men should be
more careful; this very celibacy leads weaker vessels astray.

Chasuble.  But is a man not equally attractive when married?

Miss Prism.  No married man is ever attractive except to his wife.

Chasuble.  And often, I've been told, not even to her.

Miss Prism.  That depends on the intellectual sympathies of the woman.
Maturity can always be depended on.  Ripeness can be trusted.  Young
women are green.  [Dr. Chasuble starts.]  I spoke horticulturally.  My
metaphor was drawn from fruits.  But where is Cecily?

Chasuble.  Perhaps she followed us to the schools.

[Enter Jack slowly from the back of the garden.  He is dressed in the
deepest mourning, with crape hatband and black gloves.]

Miss Prism.  Mr. Worthing!

Chasuble.  Mr. Worthing?

Miss Prism.  This is indeed a surprise.  We did not look for you till
Monday afternoon.

Jack.  [Shakes Miss Prism's hand in a tragic manner.]  I have returned
sooner than I expected.  Dr. Chasuble, I hope you are well?

Chasuble.  Dear Mr. Worthing, I trust this garb of woe does not betoken
some terrible calamity?

Jack.  My brother.

Miss Prism.  More shameful debts and extravagance?

Chasuble.  Still leading his life of pleasure?

Jack.  [Shaking his head.]  Dead!

Chasuble.  Your brother Ernest dead?

Jack.  Quite dead.

Miss Prism.  What a lesson for him!  I trust he will profit by it.

Chasuble.  Mr. Worthing, I offer you my sincere condolence.  You have at
least the consolation of knowing that you were always the most generous
and forgiving of brothers.

Jack.  Poor Ernest!  He had many faults, but it is a sad, sad blow.

Chasuble.  Very sad indeed.  Were you with him at the end?

Jack.  No.  He died abroad; in Paris, in fact.  I had a telegram last
night from the manager of the Grand Hotel.

Chasuble.  Was the cause of death mentioned?

Jack.  A severe chill, it seems.

Miss Prism.  As a man sows, so shall he reap.

Chasuble.  [Raising his hand.]  Charity, dear Miss Prism, charity!  None
of us are perfect.  I myself am peculiarly susceptible to draughts.  Will
the interment take place here?

Jack.  No.  He seems to have expressed a desire to be buried in Paris.

Chasuble.  In Paris!  [Shakes his head.]  I fear that hardly points to
any very serious state of mind at the last.  You would no doubt wish me
to make some slight allusion to this tragic domestic affliction next
Sunday.  [Jack presses his hand convulsively.]  My sermon on the meaning
of the manna in the wilderness can be adapted to almost any occasion,
joyful, or, as in the present case, distressing.  [All sigh.]  I have
preached it at harvest celebrations, christenings, confirmations, on days
of humiliation and festal days.  The last time I delivered it was in the
Cathedral, as a charity sermon on behalf of the Society for the
Prevention of Discontent among the Upper Orders.  The Bishop, who was
present, was much struck by some of the analogies I drew.

Jack.  Ah! that reminds me, you mentioned christenings I think, Dr.
Chasuble?  I suppose you know how to christen all right?  [Dr. Chasuble
looks astounded.]  I mean, of course, you are continually christening,
aren't you?

Miss Prism.  It is, I regret to say, one of the Rector's most constant
duties in this parish.  I have often spoken to the poorer classes on the
subject.  But they don't seem to know what thrift is.

Chasuble.  But is there any particular infant in whom you are interested,
Mr. Worthing?  Your brother was, I believe, unmarried, was he not?

Jack.  Oh yes.

Miss Prism.  [Bitterly.]  People who live entirely for pleasure usually
are.

Jack.  But it is not for any child, dear Doctor.  I am very fond of
children.  No! the fact is, I would like to be christened myself, this
afternoon, if you have nothing better to do.

Chasuble.  But surely, Mr. Worthing, you have been christened already?

Jack.  I don't remember anything about it.

Chasuble.  But have you any grave doubts on the subject?

Jack.  I certainly intend to have.  Of course I don't know if the thing
would bother you in any way, or if you think I am a little too old now.

Chasuble.  Not at all.  The sprinkling, and, indeed, the immersion of
adults is a perfectly canonical practice.

Jack.  Immersion!

Chasuble.  You need have no apprehensions.  Sprinkling is all that is
necessary, or indeed I think advisable.  Our weather is so changeable.  At
what hour would you wish the ceremony performed?

Jack.  Oh, I might trot round about five if that would suit you.

Chasuble.  Perfectly, perfectly!  In fact I have two similar ceremonies
to perform at that time.  A case of twins that occurred recently in one
of the outlying cottages on your own estate.  Poor Jenkins the carter, a
most hard-working man.

Jack.  Oh!  I don't see much fun in being christened along with other
babies.  It would be childish.  Would half-past five do?

Chasuble.  Admirably!  Admirably!  [Takes out watch.]  And now, dear Mr.
Worthing, I will not intrude any longer into a house of sorrow.  I would
merely beg you not to be too much bowed down by grief.  What seem to us
bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.

Miss Prism.  This seems to me a blessing of an extremely obvious kind.

[Enter Cecily from the house.]

Cecily.  Uncle Jack!  Oh, I am pleased to see you back.  But what horrid
clothes you have got on!  Do go and change them.

Miss Prism.  Cecily!

Chasuble.  My child! my child!  [Cecily goes towards Jack; he kisses her
brow in a melancholy manner.]

Cecily.  What is the matter, Uncle Jack?  Do look happy!  You look as if
you had toothache, and I have got such a surprise for you.  Who do you
think is in the dining-room?  Your brother!

Jack.  Who?

Cecily.  Your brother Ernest.  He arrived about half an hour ago.

Jack.  What nonsense!  I haven't got a brother.

Cecily.  Oh, don't say that.  However badly he may have behaved to you in
the past he is still your brother.  You couldn't be so heartless as to
disown him.  I'll tell him to come out.  And you will shake hands with
him, won't you, Uncle Jack?  [Runs back into the house.]

Chasuble.  These are very joyful tidings.

Miss Prism.  After we had all been resigned to his loss, his sudden
return seems to me peculiarly distressing.

Jack.  My brother is in the dining-room?  I don't know what it all means.
I think it is perfectly absurd.

[Enter Algernon and Cecily hand in hand.  They come slowly up to Jack.]

Jack.  Good heavens!  [Motions Algernon away.]

Algernon.  Brother John, I have come down from town to tell you that I am
very sorry for all the trouble I have given you, and that I intend to
lead a better life in the future.  [Jack glares at him and does not take
his hand.]

Cecily.  Uncle Jack, you are not going to refuse your own brother's hand?

Jack.  Nothing will induce me to take his hand.  I think his coming down
here disgraceful.  He knows perfectly well why.

Cecily.  Uncle Jack, do be nice.  There is some good in every one.  Ernest
has just been telling me about his poor invalid friend Mr. Bunbury whom
he goes to visit so often.  And surely there must be much good in one who
is kind to an invalid, and leaves the pleasures of London to sit by a bed
of pain.

Jack.  Oh! he has been talking about Bunbury, has he?

Cecily.  Yes, he has told me all about poor Mr. Bunbury, and his terrible
state of health.

Jack.  Bunbury!  Well, I won't have him talk to you about Bunbury or
about anything else.  It is enough to drive one perfectly frantic.

Algernon.  Of course I admit that the faults were all on my side.  But I
must say that I think that Brother John's coldness to me is peculiarly
painful.  I expected a more enthusiastic welcome, especially considering
it is the first time I have come here.

Cecily.  Uncle Jack, if you don't shake hands with Ernest I will never
forgive you.

Jack.  Never forgive me?

Cecily.  Never, never, never!

Jack.  Well, this is the last time I shall ever do it.  [Shakes with
Algernon and glares.]

Chasuble.  It's pleasant, is it not, to see so perfect a reconciliation?
I think we might leave the two brothers together.

Miss Prism.  Cecily, you will come with us.

Cecily.  Certainly, Miss Prism.  My little task of reconciliation is
over.

Chasuble.  You have done a beautiful action to-day, dear child.

Miss Prism.  We must not be premature in our judgments.

Cecily.  I feel very happy.  [They all go off except Jack and Algernon.]

Jack.  You young scoundrel, Algy, you must get out of this place as soon
as possible.  I don't allow any Bunburying here.

[Enter Merriman.]

Merriman.  I have put Mr. Ernest's things in the room next to yours, sir.
I suppose that is all right?

Jack.  What?

Merriman.  Mr. Ernest's luggage, sir.  I have unpacked it and put it in
the room next to your own.

Jack.  His luggage?

Merriman.  Yes, sir.  Three portmanteaus, a dressing-case, two hat-boxes,
and a large luncheon-basket.

Algernon.  I am afraid I can't stay more than a week this time.

Jack.  Merriman, order the dog-cart at once.  Mr. Ernest has been
suddenly called back to town.

Merriman.  Yes, sir.  [Goes back into the house.]

Algernon.  What a fearful liar you are, Jack.  I have not been called
back to town at all.

Jack.  Yes, you have.

Algernon.  I haven't heard any one call me.

Jack.  Your duty as a gentleman calls you back.

Algernon.  My duty as a gentleman has never interfered with my pleasures
in the smallest degree.

Jack.  I can quite understand that.

Algernon.  Well, Cecily is a darling.

Jack.  You are not to talk of Miss Cardew like that.  I don't like it.

Algernon.  Well, I don't like your clothes.  You look perfectly
ridiculous in them.  Why on earth don't you go up and change?  It is
perfectly childish to be in deep mourning for a man who is 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 'absolute perfection'.  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 engagement actually 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 off 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 off?  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 off 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
inspire absolute 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, thoroughly experienced 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?

Cecily.  With pleasure!

Gwendolen.  And you will always call me Gwendolen, won't you?

Cecily.  If you wish.

Gwendolen.  Then that is all quite settled, is it not?

Cecily.  I hope so.  [A pause.  They both sit down together.]

Gwendolen.  Perhaps this might be a favourable opportunity for my
mentioning who I am.  My father is Lord Bracknell.  You have never heard
of papa, I suppose?

Cecily.  I don't think so.

Gwendolen.  Outside the family circle, papa, I am glad to say, is
entirely unknown.  I think that is quite as it should be.  The home seems
to me to be the proper sphere for the man.  And certainly once a man
begins to neglect his domestic duties he becomes painfully effeminate,
does he not?  And I don't like that.  It makes men so very attractive.
Cecily, mamma, whose views on education are remarkably strict, has
brought me up to be extremely short-sighted; it is part of her system; so
do you mind my looking at you through my glasses?

Cecily.  Oh! not at all, Gwendolen.  I am very fond of being looked at.

Gwendolen.  [After examining Cecily carefully through a lorgnette.]  You
are here on a short visit, I suppose.

Cecily.  Oh no!  I live here.

Gwendolen.  [Severely.]  Really?  Your mother, no doubt, or some female
relative of advanced years, resides here also?

Cecily.  Oh no!  I have no mother, nor, in fact, any relations.

Gwendolen.  Indeed?

Cecily.  My dear guardian, with the assistance of Miss Prism, has the
arduous task of looking after me.

Gwendolen.  Your guardian?

Cecily.  Yes, I am Mr. Worthing's ward.

Gwendolen.  Oh!  It is strange he never mentioned to me that he had a
ward.  How secretive of him!  He grows more interesting hourly.  I am not
sure, however, that the news inspires me with feelings of unmixed
delight.  [Rising and going to her.]  I am very fond of you, Cecily; I
have liked you ever since I met you!  But I am bound to state that now
that I know that you are Mr. Worthing's ward, I cannot help expressing a
wish you were--well, just a little older than you seem to be--and not
quite so very alluring in appearance.  In fact, if I may speak candidly--

Cecily.  Pray do!  I think that whenever one has anything unpleasant to
say, one should always be quite candid.

Gwendolen.  Well, to speak with perfect candour, Cecily, I wish that you
were fully forty-two, and more than usually plain for your age.  Ernest
has a strong upright nature.  He is the very soul of truth and honour.
Disloyalty would be as impossible to him as deception.  But even men of
the noblest possible moral character are extremely susceptible to the
influence of the physical charms of others.  Modern, no less than Ancient
History, supplies us with many most painful examples of what I refer to.
If it were not so, indeed, History would be quite unreadable.

Cecily.  I beg your pardon, Gwendolen, did you say Ernest?

Gwendolen.  Yes.

Cecily.  Oh, but it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing who is my guardian.  It is
his brother--his elder brother.

Gwendolen.  [Sitting down again.]  Ernest never mentioned to me that he
had a brother.

Cecily.  I am sorry to say they have not been on good terms for a long
time.

Gwendolen.  Ah! that accounts for it.  And now that I think of it I have
never heard any man mention his brother.  The subject seems distasteful
to most men.  Cecily, you have lifted a load from my mind.  I was growing
almost anxious.  It would have been terrible if any cloud had come across
a friendship like ours, would it not?  Of course you are quite, quite
sure that it is not Mr. Ernest Worthing who is your guardian?

Cecily.  Quite sure.  [A pause.]  In fact, I am going to be his.

Gwendolen.  [Inquiringly.]  I beg your pardon?

Cecily.  [Rather shy and confidingly.]  Dearest Gwendolen, there is no
reason why I should make a secret of it to you.  Our little county
newspaper is sure to chronicle the fact next week.  Mr. Ernest Worthing
and I are engaged to be married.

Gwendolen.  [Quite politely, rising.]  My darling Cecily, I think there
must be some slight error.  Mr. Ernest Worthing is engaged to me.  The
announcement will appear in the _Morning Post_ on Saturday at the latest.

Cecily.  [Very politely, rising.]  I am afraid you must be under some
misconception.  Ernest proposed to me exactly ten minutes ago.  [Shows
diary.]

Gwendolen.  [Examines diary through her lorgnettte carefully.]  It is
certainly very curious, for he asked me to be his wife yesterday
afternoon at 5.30.  If you would care to verify the incident, pray do so.
[Produces diary of her own.]  I never travel without my diary.  One
should always have something sensational to read in the train.  I am so
sorry, dear Cecily, if it is any disappointment to you, but I am afraid I
have the prior claim.

Cecily.  It would distress me more than I can tell you, dear Gwendolen,
if it caused you any mental or physical anguish, but I feel bound to
point out that since Ernest proposed to you he clearly has changed his
mind.

Gwendolen.  [Meditatively.]  If the poor fellow has been entrapped into
any foolish promise I shall consider it my duty to rescue him at once,
and with a firm hand.

Cecily.  [Thoughtfully and sadly.]  Whatever unfortunate entanglement my
dear boy may have got into, I will never reproach him with it after we
are married.

Gwendolen.  Do you allude to me, Miss Cardew, as an entanglement?  You
are presumptuous.  On an occasion of this kind it becomes more than a
moral duty to speak one's mind.  It becomes a pleasure.

Cecily.  Do you suggest, Miss Fairfax, that I entrapped Ernest into an
engagement?  How dare you?  This is no time for wearing the shallow mask
of manners.  When I see a spade I call it a spade.

Gwendolen.  [Satirically.]  I am glad to say that I have never seen a
spade.  It is obvious that our social spheres have been widely different.

[Enter Merriman, followed by the footman.  He carries a salver, table
cloth, and plate stand.  Cecily is about to retort.  The presence of the
servants exercises a restraining influence, under which both girls
chafe.]

Merriman.  Shall I lay tea here as usual, Miss?

Cecily.  [Sternly, in a calm voice.]  Yes, as usual.  [Merriman begins to
clear table and lay cloth.  A long pause.  Cecily and Gwendolen glare at
each other.]

Gwendolen.  Are there many interesting walks in the vicinity, Miss
Cardew?

Cecily.  Oh! yes! a great many.  From the top of one of the hills quite
close one can see five counties.

Gwendolen.  Five counties!  I don't think I should like that; I hate
crowds.

Cecily.  [Sweetly.]  I suppose that is why you live in town?  [Gwendolen
bites her lip, and beats her foot nervously with her parasol.]

Gwendolen.  [Looking round.]  Quite a well-kept garden this is, Miss
Cardew.

Cecily.  So glad you like it, Miss Fairfax.

Gwendolen.  I had no idea there were any flowers in the country.

Cecily.  Oh, flowers are as common here, Miss Fairfax, as people are in
London.

Gwendolen.  Personally I cannot understand how anybody manages to exist
in the country, if anybody who is anybody does.  The country always bores
me to death.

Cecily.  Ah!  This is what the newspapers call agricultural depression,
is it not?  I believe the aristocracy are suffering very much from it
just at present.  It is almost an epidemic amongst them, I have been
told.  May I offer you some tea, Miss Fairfax?

Gwendolen.  [With elaborate politeness.]  Thank you.  [Aside.]  Detestable
girl!  But I require tea!

Cecily.  [Sweetly.]  Sugar?

Gwendolen.  [Superciliously.]  No, thank you.  Sugar is not fashionable
any more. [Cecily looks angrily at her, takes up the tongs and puts four
lumps of sugar into the cup.]

Cecily.  [Severely.]  Cake or bread and butter?

Gwendolen.  [In a bored manner.]  Bread and butter, please.  Cake is
rarely seen at the best houses nowadays.

Cecily.  [Cuts a very large slice of cake, and puts it on the tray.]  Hand
that to Miss Fairfax.

[Merriman does so, and goes out with footman.  Gwendolen drinks the tea
and makes a grimace.  Puts down cup at once, reaches out her hand to the
bread and butter, looks at it, and finds it is cake.  Rises in
indignation.]

Gwendolen.  You have filled my tea with lumps of sugar, and though I
asked most distinctly for bread and butter, you have given me cake.  I am
known for the gentleness of my disposition, and the extraordinary
sweetness of my nature, but I warn you, Miss Cardew, you may go too far.

Cecily.  [Rising.]  To save my poor, innocent, trusting boy from the
machinations of any other girl there are no lengths to which I would not
go.

Gwendolen.  From the moment I saw you I distrusted you.  I felt that you
were false and deceitful.  I am never deceived in such matters.  My first
impressions of people are invariably right.

Cecily.  It seems to me, Miss Fairfax, that I am trespassing on your
valuable time.  No doubt you have many other calls of a similar character
to make in the neighbourhood.

[Enter Jack.]

Gwendolen.  [Catching sight of him.]  Ernest!  My own Ernest!

Jack.  Gwendolen!  Darling!  [Offers to kiss her.]

Gwendolen.  [Draws back.]  A moment!  May I ask if you are engaged to be
married to this young lady?  [Points to Cecily.]

Jack.  [Laughing.]  To dear little Cecily!  Of course not!  What could
have put such an idea into your pretty little head?

Gwendolen.  Thank you.  You may!  [Offers her cheek.]

Cecily.  [Very sweetly.]  I knew there must be some misunderstanding,
Miss Fairfax.  The gentleman whose arm is at present round your waist is
my guardian, Mr. John Worthing.

Gwendolen.  I beg your pardon?

Cecily.  This is Uncle Jack.

Gwendolen.  [Receding.]  Jack!  Oh!

[Enter Algernon.]

Cecily.  Here is Ernest.

Algernon.  [Goes straight over to Cecily without noticing any one else.]
My own love!  [Offers to kiss her.]

Cecily.  [Drawing back.]  A moment, Ernest!  May I ask you--are you
engaged to be married to this young lady?

Algernon.  [Looking round.]  To what young lady?  Good heavens!
Gwendolen!

Cecily.  Yes! to good heavens, Gwendolen, I mean to Gwendolen.

Algernon.  [Laughing.]  Of course not!  What could have put such an idea
into your pretty little head?

Cecily.  Thank you.  [Presenting her cheek to be kissed.]  You may.
[Algernon kisses her.]

Gwendolen.  I felt there was some slight error, Miss Cardew.  The
gentleman who is now embracing you is my cousin, Mr. Algernon Moncrieff.

Cecily.  [Breaking away from Algernon.]  Algernon Moncrieff!  Oh!  [The
two girls move towards each other and put their arms round each other's
waists as if for protection.]

Cecily.  Are you called Algernon?

Algernon.  I cannot deny it.

Cecily.  Oh!

Gwendolen.  Is your name really John?

Jack.  [Standing rather proudly.]  I could deny it if I liked.  I could
deny anything if I liked.  But my name certainly is John.  It has been
John for years.

Cecily.  [To Gwendolen.]  A gross deception has been practised on both of
us.

Gwendolen.  My poor wounded Cecily!

Cecily.  My sweet wronged Gwendolen!

Gwendolen.  [Slowly and seriously.]  You will call me sister, will you
not?  [They embrace.  Jack and Algernon groan and walk up and down.]

Cecily.  [Rather brightly.]  There is just one question I would like to
be allowed to ask my guardian.

Gwendolen.  An admirable idea!  Mr. Worthing, there is just one question
I would like to be permitted to put to you.  Where is your brother
Ernest?  We are both engaged to be married to your brother Ernest, so it
is a matter of some importance to us to know where your brother Ernest is
at present.

Jack.  [Slowly and hesitatingly.]  Gwendolen--Cecily--it is very painful
for me to be forced to speak the truth.  It is the first time in my life
that I have ever been reduced to such a painful position, and I am really
quite inexperienced in doing anything of the kind.  However, I will tell
you quite frankly that I have no brother Ernest.  I have no brother at
all.  I never had a brother in my life, and I certainly have not the
smallest intention of ever having one in the future.

Cecily.  [Surprised.]  No brother at all?

Jack.  [Cheerily.]  None!

Gwendolen.  [Severely.]  Had you never a brother of any kind?

Jack.  [Pleasantly.]  Never.  Not even of any kind.

Gwendolen.  I am afraid it is quite clear, Cecily, that neither of us is
engaged to be married to any one.

Cecily.  It is not a very pleasant position for a young girl suddenly to
find herself in.  Is it?

Gwendolen.  Let us go into the house.  They will hardly venture to come
after us there.

Cecily.  No, men are so cowardly, aren't they?

[They retire into the house with scornful looks.]

Jack.  This ghastly state of things is what you call Bunburying, I
suppose?

Algernon.  Yes, and a perfectly wonderful Bunbury it is.  The most
wonderful Bunbury I have ever had in my life.

Jack.  Well, you've no right whatsoever to Bunbury here.

Algernon.  That is absurd.  One has a right to Bunbury anywhere one
chooses.  Every serious Bunburyist knows that.

Jack.  Serious Bunburyist!  Good heavens!

Algernon.  Well, one must be serious about something, if one wants to
have any amusement in life.  I happen to be serious about Bunburying.
What on earth you are serious about I haven't got the remotest idea.
About everything, I should fancy.  You have such an absolutely trivial
nature.

Jack.  Well, the only small satisfaction I have in the whole of this
wretched business is that your friend Bunbury is quite exploded.  You
won't be able to run down to the country quite so often as you used to
do, dear Algy.  And a very good thing too.

Algernon.  Your brother is a little off colour, isn't he, dear Jack?  You
won't be able to disappear to London quite so frequently as your wicked
custom was.  And not a bad thing either.

Jack.  As for your conduct towards Miss Cardew, I must say that your
taking in a sweet, simple, innocent girl like that is quite inexcusable.
To say nothing of the fact that she is my ward.

Algernon.  I can see no possible defence at all for your deceiving a
brilliant, clever, thoroughly experienced young lady like Miss Fairfax.
To say nothing of the fact that she is my cousin.

Jack.  I wanted to be engaged to Gwendolen, that is all.  I love her.

Algernon.  Well, I simply wanted to be engaged to Cecily.  I adore her.

Jack.  There is certainly no chance of your marrying Miss Cardew.

Algernon.  I don't think there is much likelihood, Jack, of you and Miss
Fairfax being united.

Jack.  Well, that is no business of yours.

Algernon.  If it was my business, I wouldn't talk about it.  [Begins to
eat muffins.]  It is very vulgar to talk about one's business.  Only
people like stock-brokers do that, and then merely at dinner parties.

Jack.  How can you sit there, calmly eating muffins when we are in this
horrible trouble, I can't make out.  You seem to me to be perfectly
heartless.

Algernon.  Well, I can't eat muffins in an agitated manner.  The butter
would probably get on my cuffs.  One should always eat muffins quite
calmly.  It is the only way to eat them.

Jack.  I say it's perfectly heartless your eating muffins at all, under
the circumstances.

Algernon.  When I am in trouble, eating is the only thing that consoles
me.  Indeed, when I am in really great trouble, as any one who knows me
intimately will tell you, I refuse everything except food and drink.  At
the present moment I am eating muffins because I am unhappy.  Besides, I
am particularly fond of muffins.  [Rising.]

Jack.  [Rising.]  Well, that is no reason why you should eat them all in
that greedy way. [Takes muffins from Algernon.]

Algernon.  [Offering tea-cake.]  I wish you would have tea-cake instead.
I don't like tea-cake.

Jack.  Good heavens!  I suppose a man may eat his own muffins in his own
garden.

Algernon.  But you have just said it was perfectly heartless to eat
muffins.

Jack.  I said it was perfectly heartless of you, under the circumstances.
That is a very different thing.

Algernon.  That may be.  But the muffins are the same.  [He seizes the
muffin-dish from Jack.]

Jack.  Algy, I wish to goodness you would go.

Algernon.  You can't possibly ask me to go without having some dinner.
It's absurd.  I never go without my dinner.  No one ever does, except
vegetarians and people like that.  Besides I have just made arrangements
with Dr. Chasuble to be christened at a quarter to six under the name of
Ernest.

Jack.  My dear fellow, the sooner you give up that nonsense the better.  I
made arrangements this morning with Dr. Chasuble to be christened myself
at 5.30, and I naturally will take the name of Ernest.  Gwendolen would
wish it.  We can't both be christened Ernest.  It's absurd.  Besides, I
have a perfect right to be christened if I like.  There is no evidence at
all that I have ever been christened by anybody.  I should think it
extremely probable I never was, and so does Dr. Chasuble.  It is entirely
different in your case.  You have been christened already.

Algernon.  Yes, but I have not been christened for years.

Jack.  Yes, but you have been christened.  That is the important thing.

Algernon.  Quite so.  So I know my constitution can stand it.  If you are
not quite sure about your ever having been christened, I must say I think
it rather dangerous your venturing on it now.  It might make you very
unwell.  You can hardly have forgotten that some one very closely
connected with you was very nearly carried off this week in Paris by a
severe chill.

Jack.  Yes, but you said yourself that a severe chill was not hereditary.

Algernon.  It usen't to be, I know--but I daresay it is now.  Science is
always making wonderful improvements in things.

Jack.  [Picking up the muffin-dish.]  Oh, that is nonsense; you are
always talking nonsense.

Algernon.  Jack, you are at the muffins again!  I wish you wouldn't.
There are only two left.  [Takes them.]  I told you I was particularly
fond of muffins.

Jack.  But I hate tea-cake.

Algernon.  Why on earth then do you allow tea-cake to be served up for
your guests?  What ideas you have of hospitality!

Jack.  Algernon!  I have already told you to go.  I don't want you here.
Why don't you go!

Algernon.  I haven't quite finished my tea yet! and there is still one
muffin left.  [Jack groans, and sinks into a chair.  Algernon still
continues eating.]

ACT DROP

The setting is the garden in the Manor House--Jack's country estate. It's July. A table full of books is set up beneath a yew tree in the rose garden. Miss Prism is sitting at the table while Cecily is in the back, watering the flowers. Miss Prism calls to Cecily to stop doing such a mundane task as watering the flowers because she needs to do her German grammar lesson. Cecily argues that she doesn't want to because she knows she looks plain after her German lesson. Miss Prism retorts that Uncle Jack is only looking out for Cecily's education. Cecily complains that Uncle Jack is so serious. Miss Prism defends him as the pinnacle of "duty and responsibility" . She adds that he's even helping out that unfortunately troublesome younger brother of his. This piques Cecily's interest and she wishes aloud that Uncle Jack would bring Ernest by sometime so that Miss Prism could reform him. She begins writing in her diary, where she keeps all the "wonderful secrets of life" . At this, Miss Prism comments that she was once a writer herself. She wrote a three-volume novel back in the day. Miss Prism tells Cecily to work on her lesson. But the perfect excuse to ignore the lesson is just arriving--Dr. Chasuble. At the sight of him, Miss Prism blushes and stands. They're so obviously crushing on each other that Cecily finds it easy to persuade them to take a walk together. While they're out, Merriman the butler tells Cecily that a Mr. Ernest Worthing has just arrived. Cecily is overjoyed to finally be able to meet the infamous Ernest, but she's scared at the same time. Algernon enters, disguised as Ernest. He greets his "cousin," Cici. They talk about how "wicked" he is, with Cecily making comments about how he should reform himself. Charmingly, Algernon/Ernest asks Cecily to try to reform him that very afternoon. As they're flirting and Ernest is finding every way possible to compliment Cecily, like asking for a pink rose for his button-hole "because you are like a pink rose, cousin Cecily" . Algernon learns that Jack plans to send Ernest to Australia. As Cecily's putting a flower into his buttonhole, Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble return, discussing the moral advantages and disadvantages of marriage. They're so wrapped up in each other that they don't realize that Cecily is not where they left her. Before they can send out a search party, Jack arrives home, dressed in a black suit of mourning. When they ask him about it, Jack announces that he's returned early because his brother Ernest is dead. He died last night in Paris of a "severe chill." When Dr. Chasuble offers to perform a funeral ceremony for Ernest, Jack suddenly remembers something. He asks Dr. Chasuble if he can be christened. After some questions, Dr. Chasuble relents and they arrange for Jack to come by at half-past five that evening. Cecily comes from the house to meet her Uncle Jack with the happy news that his brother Ernest arrived just recently and is now in the dining-room. Jack is completely confused. Dr. Chasuble--trying to smooth over the awkward situation--says that these are good tidings indeed . The mystery is solved when Jack sees Algernon sitting at the table. Jack refuses to shake hands with Algernon. We learn from Cecily that Ernest has been telling her about his poor friend, Mr. Bunbury. Finally, Cecily declares she will never speak to Uncle Jack again if he doesn't shake hands with Ernest. Jack gives in reluctantly and Miss Prism praises Cecily for her wonderful act of kindness today. They leave Jack and Ernest together. Furiously, Jack tells Algy to leave at once. But he's interrupted when Merriman comes in to reveal that Mr. Ernest's luggage has been put in the bedroom next to Jack's. Jack tells Merriman that unfortunately Ernest's dog-cart has arrived to take him away; he's been called back to town. While Jack rants at Algernon, Algernon talks about how pretty Cecily is. Jack declares the dog-cart is here and leaves, just in time to miss Algy's comment that he has fallen in love with Cecily. Cecily appears with a watering can in her hand. She and Ernest/Algernon exchange glances. She pleads with Merriman to let Ernest stay for another five minutes. Algernon informs her that Jack is sending him away and compliments her beauty. Flattered, Cecily begins copying his words down in her diary, but refuses to let him look at it. When the dog-cart comes again, Ernest tells it to come again next week. Without ceremony, he asks Cecily to marry him. She responds amusedly that they've been engaged for months. She confides her past fantasies to him, as they're written in her diary. Apparently, Ernest proposed on Valentine's day but they'd broken it off a month later. Now they're back together, which she can prove with the many love letters from him that she has saved . Ernest kisses her for being so forgiving. Then she confides that it's always been a "girlish dream of mine to love someone whose name was Ernest" . Distraught, he asks her if she could love him under any other name... say... Algernon, for instance. Cecily finds it a rather aristocratic name, but no, she wouldn't be able to love him then. At that declaration, Ernest/Algernon promptly begins asking her about the rector and whether or not he performs christenings. Algernon leaves to find Dr. Chasuble about a very important matter. As he leaves, Cecily comments that she likes his hair so much. Soon, Merriman enters to tell Cecily that a Miss Fairfax has arrived to see Mr. Worthing. Cecily invites Miss Fairfax to sit with her until Uncle Jack comes out. They're both such charming girls that when they meet, they declare they'll be best friends and call each other immediately by their first names. They talk for a little while before Gwendolen works up the balls to ask Cecily if she can inspect her. Gwendolen, peering through her glasses, finds Cecily rather too attractive and loudly wishes that she were a bit older and more decidedly more dowdy. She asks about Cici's relations and finds out that Mr. Worthing is Cecily's guardian. Now that's problematic, Gwendolen says, since Ernest never mentioned it to her. When Cecily hears the name Ernest, she quickly explains the situation. It's not Ernest Worthing who is my guardian, she says sweetly, but his older brother, Jack. That's a relief to Gwendolen, who suddenly becomes polite again. Cecily proudly declares that she's going to be Ernest Worthing's wife. Gwendolen rises to her feet. Excuse me? You're mistaken. Ernest proposed to me yesterday. Cecily retorts that he must've changed his mind because he just proposed to her ten minutes ago. The two women eye each other coldly before Gwendolen announces--alluding to Cecily's rude manners--that they obviously move in different social circles. Right before they can start clawing at each other, Merriman comes by to arrange their tea things. The girls bite back their acidic words in his presence. As Merriman serves them, they glare at each other but chitchat in cordial tones. However, their small talk bristles with little insults, mostly about the superiority of urban life vs. the superiority of country life . When Cecily serves Gwendolen tea, she serves it in the opposite manner that Gwendolen requests--giving her lots of sugar in her tea and cake instead of bread and butter. Thank goodness, Jack arrives just in time to break up their fight. When Gwendolen jumps on him and asks if he's to be married to Cecily, Jack laughs it off and kisses Gwendolen. The truth comes out. Cecily replies that he's not Ernest Worthing; that's Uncle Jack. At the unglamorous name, Gwendolen recoils in disgust. Right on cue, Algernon enters and Cecily goes through the same routine with him. When he confirms he's not to be married to Gwendolen, she allows him to kiss her. This time it's Gwendolen's turn to clear up the confusion. She reveals that he's not Ernest Worthing; it's Algernon Moncrieff, her cousin. Cecily backs away when she hears "Algernon." The two women embrace each other in distress, while the men hang their heads in shame. They finally ask Jack who Ernest is and he is forced to admit that Ernest doesn't exist. When both girls realize with horror that neither of them are engaged to Ernest, they agree to go into the house where the men won't dare to follow them. With scornful looks, they leave. Infuriated and frustrated, the two men turn on each other for the horrible results of their Bunburying. Both blame each other for deceiving the girls. They argue for a while and Algernon sits down agitatedly and begins to eat the muffins left by the ladies. Jack comments that it's heartless for him to eat so calmly when they're in such a state and begins fighting with him over the muffins. In the midst of their squabbling, each discovers that the other has a christening to attend that evening to be named Ernest. Their christenings are scheduled only fifteen minutes apart! Both try to dissuade each other from doing so, without success. The act ends with both guys still munching muffins and bickering with each other.