(LADY MARY is a beautiful creature of twenty-two, and is of a natural hauteur which is at once the fury and the envy of her sisters. If she chooses she can make you seem so insignificant that you feel you might be swept away with the crumb-brush. She seldom chooses, because of the trouble of preening herself as she does it; she is usually content to show that you merely tire her eyes. She often seems to be about to go to sleep in the middle of a remark: there is quite a long and anxious pause, and then she continues, like a clock that hesitates, bored in the middle of its strike.) LADY MARY (arching her brows). It is only you, Ernest; I thought there was some one here (and she also bestows herself on cushions). ERNEST (a little piqued, and deserting the footstool). Had a very tiring day also, Mary? LADY MARY (yawning). Dreadfully. Been trying on engagement-rings all the morning. ERNEST (who is as fond of gossip as the oldest club member). What’s that? (To AGATHA.) Is it Brocklehurst? (The energetic AGATHA nods.) You have given your warm young heart to Brocky? (LADY MARY is impervious to his humour, but he continues bravely.) I don’t wish to fatigue you, Mary, by insisting on a verbal answer, but if, without straining yourself, you can signify Yes or No, won’t you make the effort? (She indolently flashes a ring on her most important finger, and he starts back melodramatically.) The ring! Then I am too late, too late! (Fixing LADY MARY sternly, like a prosecuting counsel.) May I ask, Mary, does Brocky know? Of course, it was that terrible mother of his who pulled this through. Mother does everything for Brocky. Still, in the eyes of the law you will be, not her wife, but his, and, therefore, I hold that Brocky ought to be informed. Now-- (He discovers that their languorous eyes have closed.) If you girls are shamming sleep in the expectation that I shall awaken you in the manner beloved of ladies, abandon all such hopes. (CATHERINE and AGATHA look up without speaking.) LADY MARY (speaking without looking up). You impertinent boy. ERNEST (eagerly plucking another epigram from his quiver). I knew that was it, though I don’t know everything. Agatha, I’m not young enough to know everything. (He looks hopefully from one to another, but though they try to grasp this, his brilliance baffles them.) AGATHA (his secret admirer). Young enough? ERNEST (encouragingly). Don’t you see? I’m not young enough to know everything. AGATHA. I’m sure it’s awfully clever, but it’s so puzzling. (Here CRICHTON ushers in an athletic, pleasant-faced young clergyman, MR. TREHERNE, who greets the company.) CATHERINE. Ernest, say it to Mr. Treherne. ERNEST. Look here, Treherne, I’m not young enough to know everything. TREHERNE. How do you mean, Ernest? ERNEST. (a little nettled). I mean what I say. LADY MARY. Say it again; say it more slowly. ERNEST. I’m--not--young--enough--to--know--everything.