Cecily.
Well, I am really only eighteen, but I always admit to twenty when I
go to evening parties.
Lady Bracknell.
You are perfectly right in making some slight
alteration. Indeed, no woman should ever be quite accurate about her
age. It looks so calculating . . . [In a meditative manner.] Eighteen, but
admitting to twenty at evening parties. Well, it will not be very long before
you are of age and free from the restraints of tutelage. So I don’t think your
guardian’s consent is, after all, a matter of any importance.
Jack.
Pray excuse me, Lady Bracknell, for interrupting you again, but it is
only fair to tell you that according to the terms of her grandfather’s will Miss
Cardew does not come legally of age till she is thirty-five.
Lady Bracknell.
That does not seem to me to be a grave objection. Thirty-
five is a very attractive age. London society is full of women of the very
highest birth who have, of their own free choice, remained thirty-five for
years. Lady Dumbleton is an instance in point. To my own knowledge she
has been thirty-five ever since she arrived at the age of forty, which was
many years ago now. I see no reason why our dear Cecily should not be
even still more attractive at the age you mention than she is at
present. There will be a large accumulation of property.
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