contained a baby of the male sex. 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 stoppe