CHASUBLE. [Severely.] I am a celibate, madam.
JACK. [Interposing.] Miss Prism, Lady Bracknell, has been for the last three years Miss Cardew's esteemed governess and valued companion.
LADY BRACKNELL. In spite of what I hear of her, I must see her at once. Let her be sent for.
CHASUBLE. [Looking off.] She approaches; she is nigh.
[Enter MISS PRISM hurriedly.]
MISS PRISM. I was told you expected me in the vestry, dear Canon.
I have been waiting for you there for an hour and three-quarters.
[Catches sight of LADY BRACKNELL, who has fixed her with a stony glare. MISS PRISM grows pale and quails. She looks anxiously round as if desirous to escape.]
LADY BRACKNELL. [In a severe, judicial voice.] Prism! [MISSPRISM bows her head in shame.] Come here, Prism! [MISS PRISMapproaches in a humble manner.] Prism! Where is that baby?
[General consternation. The CANON starts back in horror. ALGERNONand JACK pretend to be anxious to shield CECILY and GWENDOLEN from hearing the details of a terrible public scandal.] Twenty-eight years ago, Prism, you left Lord Bracknell's house, Number 104, Upper Grosvenor Street, in charge of a perambulator that contained a baby of the male ***. You never returned. A few weeks later, through the elaborate investigations of the Metropolitan police, the perambulator was discovered at midnight, standing by itself in a remote corner of Bayswater. It contained the manuscript of a three-volume novel of more than usually revolting sentimentality.
[MISS PRISM starts in involuntary indignation.] But the baby was not there! [Every one looks at MISS PRISM.] Prism! Where is that baby? [A pause.]
MISS PRISM. Lady Bracknell, I admit with shame that I do not know.
I only wish I did. The plain facts of the case are these. On the morning of the day you mention, a day that is for ever branded on my memory, I prepared as usual to take the baby out in its perambulator. I had also with me a somewhat old, but capacious hand-bag in which I had intended to place the manuscript of a work of fiction that I had written during my few unoccupied hours. In a moment of mental abstraction, for which I never can forgive myself, I deposited the manuscript in the basinette, and placed the baby in the hand-bag.
JACK. [Who has been listening attentively.] But where did you deposit the hand-bag?
MISS PRISM. Do not ask me, Mr. Worthing.
JACK. Miss Prism, this is a matter of no small importance to me.
I insist on knowing where you deposited the hand-bag that contained that infant.
MISS PRISM. I left it in the cloak-room of one of the larger railway stations in London.
JACK. What railway station?
MISS PRISM. [Quite crushed.] Victoria. The Brighton line.
[Sinks into a chair.]
JACK. I must retire to my room for a moment. Gwendolen, wait here for me.
GWENDOLEN. If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life. [Exit JACK in great excitement.]
CHASUBLE. What do you think this means, Lady Bracknell?
LADY BRACKNELL. I dare not even suspect, Dr. Chasuble. I need hardly tell you that in families of high position strange coincidences are not supposed to occur. They are hardly considered the thing.
[Noises heard overhead as if some one was throwing trunks about.
Every one looks up.]
CECILY. Uncle Jack seems strangely agitated.
CHASUBLE. Your guardian has a very emotional nature.
LADY BRACKNELL. This noise is extremely unpleasant. It sounds as if he was having an argument. I dislike arguments of any kind.
They are always vulgar, and often convincing.
CHASUBLE. [Looking up.] It has stopped now. [The noise is redoubled.]
LADY BRACKNELL. I wish he would arrive at some conclusion.
GWENDOLEN. This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last.
[Enter JACK with a hand-bag of black leather in his hand.]
JACK. [Rushing over to MISS PRISM.] Is this the handbag, Miss Prism? Examine it carefully before you speak. The happiness of more than one life depends on your answer.
MISS PRISM. [Calmly.] It seems to be mine. Yes, here is the injury it received through the upsetting of a Gower Street omnibus in younger and happier days. Here is the stain on the lining caused by the explosion of a temperance beverage, an incident that occurred at Leamington. And here, on the lock, are my initials. Ihad forgotten that in an extravagant mood I had had them placed there. The bag is undoubtedly mine. I am delighted to have it so unexpectedly restored to me. It has been a great inconvenience being without it all these years.