mprobable about my explanation
at all. In fact it's perfectly ordinary. Old Mr. Thomas Cardew, who
adopted me when I was a little boy, made me in his will guardian to his
grand-daughter, Miss Cecily Cardew. Cecily, who addresses me as her
uncle from motives of respect that you could not possibly appreciate,
lives at my place in the country under the charge of her admirable
governess, Miss Prism.

Algernon. Where is that place in the country, by the way?

Jack. That is nothing to you, dear boy. You are not going to be invited
. . . I may tell you candidly that the place is not in Shropshire.

Algernon. I suspected that, my dear fellow! I have Bunburyed all over
Shropshire on two separate occasions. Now, go on. Why are you Ernest in
town and Jack in the country?

Jack. My dear Algy, I don't know whether you will be able to understand
my real motives. You are hardly serious enough. When one is placed in
the position of guardian, one has to adopt a very high moral tone on all
subjects. It's one's duty to do so. And as a high moral tone can hardly
be said to conduce very much to either one's health or one's happiness,
in order to get up to town I have always pretended to have a younger
brother of the name of Ernest, who lives in the Albany, and gets into the
most dreadful scrapes. That, my dear Algy, is the whole truth pure and
simple.

Algernon. The truth is rarely pure and never simple. Modern life would
be very tedious if it were either, and modern literature a complete
impossibility!

Jack. That wouldn't be at all a bad thing.

Algernon. Literary criticism is not your forte, my dear fellow. Don't
try it. You should leave that to people who haven't been at a
University. They do it so well in the daily papers. What you really are
is a Bunburyist. I was quite right in saying you were a Bunburyist. You
are one of the most advanced Bunburyists I know.

Jack. What on earth do you mean?

Algernon. You have invented a very useful younger brother called Ernest,
in order that you may be able to come up to town as often as you like. I
have invented an invaluable permanent invalid called Bunbury, in order
that I may be able to go down into the country whenever I choose. Bunbury
is perfectly invaluable. If it wasn't for Bunbury's extraordinary bad
health, for instance, I wouldn't be able to dine with you at Willis's to-
night, for I have been really engaged to Aunt Augusta for more than a
wee