JACK. Oh, Gwendolen is as right as a trivet. As far as she is concerned, we are engaged. Her mother is perfectly unbearable. Never met such a Gorgon . . . I don’t really know what a Gorgon is like, but I am quite sure that Lady Bracknell is one. In any case, she is a monster, without being a myth, which is rather unfair . . . I beg your pardon, Algy, I suppose I shouldn’t talk about your own aunt in that way before you. ALGERNON. My dear boy, I love hearing my relations abused. It is the only thing that makes me put up with them at all. Relations are simply a tedious pack of people, who haven’t got the remotest knowledge of how to live, nor the smallest instinct about when to die. JACK. Oh, that is nonsense! ALGERNON. It isn’t! JACK. Well, I won’t argue about the matter. You always want to argue about things. ALGERNON. That is exactly what things were originally made for. JACK. Upon my word, if I thought that, I’d shoot myself . . . [A pause.] You don’t think there is any chance of Gwendolen becoming like her mother in about a hundred and fifty years, do you, Algy? ALGERNON. All women become like their mothers. That is their tragedy. No man does. That’s his. JACK. Is that clever? ALGERNON. It is perfectly phrased! and quite as true as any observation in civilised life should be. JACK. I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever nowadays. You can’t go anywhere without meeting clever people. The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish to goodness we had a few fools left. ALGERNON. We have. JACK. I should extremely like to meet them. What do they talk about? ALGERNON. The fools? Oh! about the clever people, of course. JACK. What fools! ALGERNON. By the way, did you tell Gwendolen the truth about your being Ernest in town, and Jack in the country? JACK. [In a very patronising manner.] My dear fellow, the truth isn’t quite the sort of thing one tells to a nice, sweet, refined girl. What extraordinary ideas you have about the way to behave to a woman! ALGERNON. The only way to behave to a woman is to make love to her, if she is pretty, and to some one else, if she is plain. JACK. Oh, that is nonsense. ALGERNON. What about your brother? What about the profligate Ernest? JACK. Oh, before the end of the week I shall have got rid of him. I’ll say he died in Paris of apoplexy. Lots of people die of apoplexy, quite suddenly, don’t they? ALGERNON. Yes, but it’s hereditary, my dear fellow. It’s a sort of thing that runs in families. You had much better say a severe chill. JACK. You are sure a severe chill isn’t hereditary, or anything of that kind? ALGERNON. Of course it isn’t! JACK. Very well, then. My poor brother Ernest is carried off suddenly, in Paris, by a severe chill. That gets rid of him. ALGERNON. But I thought you said that . . . Miss Cardew was a little too much interested in your poor brother Ernest? Won’t she feel his loss a good deal?