But they don't seem to know what thrift is.
Chasuble.
But is there any particular infant in whom you are interested, Mr. Worthing?
Your brother was, I believe, unmarried, was he not?
Jack.
Oh yes.
Miss Prism. [Bitterly.] People who live entirely for pleasure usually are.
Jack.
But it is not for any child, dear Doctor.
I am very fond of children.
No! the fact is, I would like to be christened myself, this afternoon, if you have nothing better to do.
Chasuble.
But surely, Mr. Worthing, you have been christened already?
Jack.
I don't remember anything about it.
Chasuble. But have you any grave doubts on the subject?
Jack.
I certainly intend to have.
Of course I don't know if the thing would bother you in any way, or if you think I am a little too old now.
Chasuble.
Not at all.
The sprinkling, and, indeed, the immersion of adults is a perfectly canonical practice.
Jack.
Immersion!
Chasuble.
You need have no apprehensions.
Sprinkling is all that is necessary, or indeed I think advisable.
Our weather is so changeable.
At what hour would you wish the ceremony performed?
Jack.
Oh, I might trot round about five if that would suit you.
Chasuble.
Perfectly, perfectly!
In fact I have two similar ceremonies to perform at that time.
A case of twins that occurred recently in one of the outlying cottages on your own estate.
Poor Jenkins the carter, a most hard-working man.
Jack.
Oh! I don't see much fun in being christened along with other babies.
It would be childish.
Would half-past five do?
Chasuble.
Admirably!
Admirably! [Takes out watch.] And now, dear Mr. Worthing, I will not intrude any longer into a house of sorrow.
I would merely beg you not to be too much bowed down by grief.
What seem to us bitter trials are often blessings in disguise.
Miss Prism.
This seems to me a blessing of an extremely obvious kind.
[Enter Cecily from the house.]
Cecily.
Uncle Jack!