dress. Do you know it is nearly seven?

Jack. [Irritably.] Oh! It always is nearly seven.

Algernon. Well, I'm hungry.

Jack. I never knew you when you weren't . . .

Algernon. What shall we do after dinner? Go to a theatre?

Jack. Oh no! I loathe listening.

Algernon. Well, let us go to the Club?

Jack. Oh, no! I hate talking.

Algernon. Well, we might trot round to the Empire at ten?

Jack. Oh, no! I can't bear looking at things. It is so silly.

Algernon. Well, what shall we do?

Jack. Nothing!

Algernon. It is awfully hard work doing nothing. However, I don't mind
hard work where there is no definite object of any kind.

[Enter Lane.]

Lane. Miss Fairfax.

[Enter Gwendolen. Lane goes out.]

Algernon. Gwendolen, upon my word!

Gwendolen. Algy, kindly turn your back. I have something very
particular to say to Mr. Worthing.

Algernon. Really, Gwendolen, I don't think I can allow this at all.

Gwendolen. Algy, you always adopt a strictly immoral attitude towards
life. You are not quite old enough to do that. [Algernon retires to the
fireplace.]

Jack. My own darling!

Gwendolen. Ernest, we may never be married. From the expression on
mamma's face I fear we never shall. Few parents nowadays pay any regard
to what their children say to them. The old-fashioned respect for the
young is fast dying out. Whatever influence I ever had over mamma, I
lost at the age of three. But although she may prevent us from becoming
man and wife, and I may marry some one else, and marry often, nothing
that she can possibly do can alter my eternal devotion to you.

Jack. Dear Gwendolen!

Gwendolen. The story of your romantic origin, as related to me by mamma,
with unpleasing comments, has naturally stirred the deeper fibres of my
nature. Your Christian name has an irresistible fascination. The
simplicity of your character makes you exquisitely incomprehensible to
me. Your town address at the Albany I have. What is your address in the
country?

Jack. The Manor House, Woolton, Hertfordshire.

[Algernon, who has been carefully listening, smiles to himself, and
writes the address on his shirt-cuff. Then picks up the Railway Guide.]

Gwendolen. There is a good postal service, I suppose? It may be
necessary to do something desperate. That of course will require serious
consideration. I will communicate with you daily.

Jack. My own one!

Gwendolen. How long do y