MISS PRISM. Lady Bracknell, I admit with shame that I do not know. I only wish I did. The plain facts of the case are these. On the morning of the day you mention, a day that is for ever branded on my memory, I prepared as usual to take the baby out in its perambulator. I had also with me a somewhat old, but capacious hand-bag in which I had intended to place the manuscript of a work of fiction that I had written during my few unoccupied hours. In a moment of mental abstraction, for which I never can forgive myself, I deposited the manuscript in the basinette, and placed the baby in the hand-bag. JACK. [Who has been listening attentively.] But where did you deposit the hand-bag? MISS PRISM. Do not ask me, Mr. Worthing. JACK. Miss Prism, this is a matter of no small importance to me. I insist on knowing where you deposited the hand-bag that contained that infant. MISS PRISM. I left it in the cloak-room of one of the larger railway stations in London. JACK. What railway station? MISS PRISM. [Quite crushed.] Victoria. The Brighton line. [Sinks into a chair.] JACK. I must retire to my room for a moment. Gwendolen, wait here for me. GWENDOLEN. If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life. [Exit Jack in great excitement.] CHASUBLE. What do you think this means, Lady Bracknell? LADY BRACKNELL. I dare not even suspect, Dr. Chasuble. I need hardly tell you that in families of high position strange coincidences are not supposed to occur. They are hardly considered the thing. [Noises heard overhead as if some one was throwing trunks about. Every one looks up.] CECILY. Uncle Jack seems strangely agitated. CHASUBLE. Your guardian has a very emotional nature. LADY BRACKNELL. This noise is extremely unpleasant. It sounds as if he was having an argument. I dislike arguments of any kind. They are always vulgar, and often convincing. CHASUBLE. [Looking up.] It has stopped now. [The noise is redoubled.] LADY BRACKNELL. I wish he would arrive at some conclusion. GWENDOLEN. This suspense is terrible. I hope it will last. [Enter Jack with a hand-bag of black leather in his hand.] JACK. [Rushing over to Miss Prism.] Is this the hand-bag, Miss Prism? Examine it carefully before you speak. The happiness of more than one life depends on your answer. MISS PRISM. [Calmly.] It seems to be mine. Yes, here is the injury it received through the upsetting of a Gower Street omnibus in younger and happier days. Here is the stain on the lining caused by the explosion of a temperance beverage, an incident that occurred at Leamington. And here, on the lock, are my initials. I had forgotten that in an extravagant mood I had had them placed there. The bag is undoubtedly mine. I am delighted to have it so unexpectedly restored to me. It has been a great inconvenience being without it all these years. JACK. [In a pathetic voice.] Miss Prism, more is restored to you than this hand-bag. I was the baby you placed in it. MISS PRISM. [Amazed.] You?