d your time and money.

Chasuble. Am I to understand then that there are to be no christenings
at all this afternoon?

Jack. I don't think that, as things are now, it would be of much
practical value to either of us, Dr. Chasuble.

Chasuble. I am grieved to hear such sentiments from you, Mr. Worthing.
They savour of the heretical views of the Anabaptists, views that I have
completely refuted in four of my unpublished sermons. However, as your
present mood seems to be one peculiarly secular, I will return to the
church at once. Indeed, I have just been informed by the pew-opener that
for the last hour and a half Miss Prism has been waiting for me in the
vestry.

Lady Bracknell. [Starting.] Miss Prism! Did I hear you mention a Miss
Prism?

Chasuble. Yes, Lady Bracknell. I am on my way to join her.

Lady Bracknell. Pray allow me to detain you for a moment. This matter
may prove to be one of vital importance to Lord Bracknell and myself. Is
this Miss Prism a female of repellent aspect, remotely connected with
education?

Chasuble. [Somewhat indignantly.] She is the most cultivated of ladies,
and the very picture of respectability.

Lady Bracknell. It is obviously the same person. May I ask what
position she holds in your household?

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! [Miss Prism bows
her head in shame.] Come here, Prism! [Miss Prism approaches in a
humble manner.] Prism! Where is that baby? [General consternation. The
Canon starts back in horror. Algernon and 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