Algy, you always adopt a strictly immoral attitude towards life.
You are not quite old enough to do that.
[Algernon retires to the fireplace.]
Jack.
My own darling!
Gwendolen.
Ernest, we may never be married.
From the expression on mamma's face I fear we never shall.
Few parents nowadays pay any regard to what their children say to them.
The old-fashioned respect for the young is fast dying out.
Whatever influence I ever had over mamma, I lost at the age of three.
But although she may prevent us from becoming man and wife, and I may marry some one else, and marry often, nothing that she can possibly do can alter my eternal devotion to you.
Jack.
Dear Gwendolen!
Gwendolen.
The story of your romantic origin, as related to me by mamma, with unpleasing comments, has naturally stirred the deeper fibres of my nature.
Your Christian name has an irresistible fascination.
The simplicity of your character makes you exquisitely incomprehensible to me.
Your town address at the Albany I have.
What is your address in the country?
Jack.
The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire.
[Algernon, who has been carefully listening, smiles to himself, and writes the address on his shirt-cuff.
Then picks up the Railway Guide.]
Gwendolen.
There is a good postal service, I suppose?
It may be necessary to do something desperate.
That of course will require serious consideration.
I will communicate with you daily.
Jack.
My own one!
Gwendolen.
How long do you remain in town?
Jack.
Till Monday.
Gwendolen.
Good!
Algy, you may turn round now.
Algernon.
Thanks, I've turned round already.
Gwendolen.
You may also ring the bell.
Jack.
You will let me see you to your carriage, my own darling?
Gwendolen.
Certainly.
Jack. [To Lane, who now enters.] I will see Miss Fairfax out.
Lane.
Yes, sir. [Jack and Gwendolen go off.]
[Lane presents several letters on a salver to Algernon.