Jack._Yes._The_Brighton_line._Lady_Bracknell.'>Lady Bracknell.
The cloak-room at Victoria Station?
Jack.
Yes. The Brighton line.
Lady Bracknell.
The line is immaterial. Mr. Worthing, I
confess I feel
somewhat bewildered by what you have just told me. To be born, or at any
rate bred, in a hand-bag, whether it had handles or not, seems to me to
display a contempt for the ordinary decencies of family life that reminds one
of the worst excesses of the French Revolution. And I presume you know
what that unfortunate movement led to? As for the particular locality in
which
the hand-bag was found, a cloak-room at a railway station might
serve to conceal a social indiscretion—has probably, indeed, been used for
that purpose before now—but it could hardly be regarded as an assured
basis for a recognised position in good society.
Jack.
May I ask you then what you would advise me to do? I need hardly say
I would do anything in the world to ensure Gwendolen’s happiness.
Lady Bracknell.
I
would strongly advise you, Mr. Worthing, to try and
acquire some relations as soon as possible, and to
make a definite effort to
produce at any rate one parent, of either sex, before the season is quite
over.
Jack.
Well, I don’t see how I could possibly manage to do that. I can
produce the hand-bag at any moment. It is in my dressing-room at home. I
really think that should
satisfy you, Lady Bracknell.
Lady Bracknell.
Me, sir! What has it to do with me? You can hardly imagine
that I and Lord Bracknell would dream of allowing our only daughter—a girl
brought up with the utmost care—to marry into a cloak-room, and
form an
alliance with a parcel? Good morning, Mr. Worthing!
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