Lady Bracknell.
Well, I must say, Algernon, that I
think it is high time that
Mr. Bunbury made up his mind whether he was going to live or to die. This
shilly-shallying with the question is absurd. Nor do I in any way approve of
the modern sympathy with invalids. I consider it morbid. Illness of any kind
is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others. Health
is the primary duty of
life. I am always telling that to your poor uncle, but he never seems to take
much notice . . . as far as any improvement in his ailment goes. I should be
much obliged if you would ask Mr. Bunbury, from me, to
be kind enough not
to have a relapse on Saturday, for I rely on you to arrange my music for
me.
It is my last reception, and one wants something that will encourage
conversation, particularly at the end of the season when every one has
practically said whatever they had to say, which, in
most cases, was
probably not much.
Algernon.
I’ll speak to Bunbury, Aunt Augusta, if he is still conscious, and I
think I can promise you he’ll be all right by Saturday. Of course the music is
a great difficulty. You see, if one plays good music, people don’t listen, and
if one plays bad music people don’t talk. But I’ll run over the programme
I’ve drawn out, if you will kindly come into the next room for a moment.
Dostları ilə paylaş: 
