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.
49
