Did you really, Miss Prism?
How wonderfully clever you are!
I hope it did not end happily?
I don't like novels that end happily.
They depress me so much.
Miss Prism.
The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily.
That is what Fiction means.
Cecily.
I suppose so.
But it seems very unfair.
And was your novel ever published?
Miss Prism.
Alas! no.
The manuscript unfortunately was abandoned.
[Cecily starts.]
I use the word in the sense of lost or mislaid.
To your work, child, these speculations are profitless.
Cecily. [Smiling.] But I see dear Dr. Chasuble coming up through the garden.
Miss Prism. [Rising and advancing.] Dr. Chasuble!
This is indeed a pleasure.
[Enter Canon Chasuble.]
Chasuble.
And how are we this morning?
Miss Prism, you are, I trust, well?
Cecily.
Miss Prism has just been complaining of a slight headache.
I think it would do her so much good to have a short stroll with you in the Park, Dr. Chasuble.
Miss Prism.
Cecily, I have not mentioned anything about a headache.
Cecily.
No, dear Miss Prism, I know that, but I felt instinctively that you had a headache.
Indeed I was thinking about that, and not about my German lesson, when the Rector came in.
Chasuble.
I hope, Cecily, you are not inattentive.
Cecily.
Oh, I am afraid I am.
Chasuble.
That is strange.
Were I fortunate enough to be Miss Prism's pupil, I would hang upon her lips.
[Miss Prism glares.]
I spoke metaphorically. - My metaphor was drawn from bees.
Ahem!
Mr. Worthing, I suppose, has not returned from town yet?
Miss Prism.
We do not expect him till Monday afternoon.
Chasuble.
Ah yes, he usually likes to spend his Sunday in London.
He is not one of those whose sole aim is enjoyment, as, by all accounts, that unfortunate young man his brother seems to be.
But I must not disturb Egeria and her pupil any longer.