ALGERNON. Then Miss Prism is a short-sighted old lady. [Cecily puts the rose in his buttonhole.] You are the prettiest girl I ever saw. CECILY. Miss Prism says that all good looks are a snare. ALGERNON. They are a snare that every sensible man would like to be caught in. CECILY. Oh, I don’t think I would care to catch a sensible man. I shouldn’t know what to talk to him about. [They pass into the house. Miss Prism and Dr. Chasuble return.] MISS PRISM. You are too much alone, dear Dr. Chasuble. You should get married. A misanthrope I can understand—a womanthrope, never! CHASUBLE. [With a scholar’s shudder.] Believe me, I do not deserve so neologistic a phrase. The precept as well as the practice of the Primitive Church was distinctly against matrimony. MISS PRISM. [Sententiously.] That is obviously the reason why the Primitive Church has not lasted up to the present day. And you do not seem to realise, dear Doctor, that by persistently remaining single, a man converts himself into a permanent public temptation. Men should be more careful; this very celibacy leads weaker vessels astray. CHASUBLE. But is a man not equally attractive when married? MISS PRISM. No married man is ever attractive except to his wife. CHASUBLE. And often, I’ve been told, not even to her. MISS PRISM. That depends on the intellectual sympathies of the woman. Maturity can always be depended on. Ripeness can be trusted. Young women are green. [Dr. Chasuble starts.] I spoke horticulturally. My metaphor was drawn from fruits. But where is Cecily? CHASUBLE. Perhaps she followed us to the schools. [Enter Jack slowly from the back of the garden. He is dressed in the deepest mourning, with crape hatband and black gloves.] MISS PRISM. Mr. Worthing! CHASUBLE. Mr. Worthing? MISS PRISM. This is indeed a surprise. We did not look for you till Monday afternoon. JACK. [Shakes Miss Prism’s hand in a tragic manner.] I have returned sooner than I expected. Dr. Chasuble, I hope you are well? CHASUBLE. Dear Mr. Worthing, I trust this garb of woe does not betoken some terrible calamity? JACK. My brother. MISS PRISM. More shameful debts and extravagance? CHASUBLE. Still leading his life of pleasure? JACK. [Shaking his head.] Dead! CHASUBLE. Your brother Ernest dead? JACK. Quite dead. MISS PRISM. What a lesson for him! I trust he will profit by it. CHASUBLE. Mr. Worthing, I offer you my sincere condolence. You have at least the consolation of knowing that you were always the most generous and forgiving of brothers. JACK. Poor Ernest! He had many faults, but it is a sad, sad blow. CHASUBLE. Very sad indeed. Were you with him at the end? JACK. No. He died abroad; in Paris, in fact. I had a telegram last night from the manager of the Grand Hotel. CHASUBLE. Was the cause of death mentioned? JACK. A severe chill, it seems. MISS PRISM. As a man sows, so shall he reap.