The Importance of Being Earnest Page #5

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you are not inattentive.

- Oh, I'm afraid I am.

- That is strange.

Were I fortunate enough

to be Miss Prism's pupil,

I would hang upon her lips.

- Oh!

- I spoke metaphorically.

My metaphor was drawn from bees.

Mr. Worthing, I suppose,

has not returned from town yet.

We do not expect him

till Monday afternoon.

Ah, yes, he usually likes

to spend his Sunday in London.

He is not one of those

whose sole aim is enjoyment,

as, by all accounts, that unfortunate

young man, his brother, seems to be.

I must not disturb

Egeria and her pupil any longer.

Egeria? My name is Laetitia,

Doctor.

Ah! Laetitia, the Latin for "joy."

Yes...

I shall, uh, I shall see you both,

no doubt, at evensong.

I think, dear Doctor, I will have

a stroll with you.

I find I have a headache after all,

and a stroll might do it good.

Oh, Cecily, you will read your

political economy in my absence.

The chapter on the fall of the rupee

you may omit.

It is somewhat too sensational.

Even these metallic problems

have their melodramatic side.

Horrid political economy,

horrid geology,

horrid, horrid German!

You are too much alone,

dear Dr. Chasuble.

- You should get married.

- Oh, no!

You do not seem to realize,

dear Doctor,

that by persistently remaining single,

a man converts himself...

into a permanent public temptation.

Oh!

A man should be more careful...

or he may lead

weaker vessels astray.

But is a man not equally attractive

when married?

Oh, no married man is ever attractive,

except to his wife.

And often, I've been told,

not even to her.

Oh, doesn't that depend upon the

intellectual sympathies of the woman?

Maturity can always be depended on.

Ripeness can be trusted.

- Young women are green.

- Oh!

I spoke horticulturally.

My metaphor was drawn from fruits.

Fruits, yes.

Mr. Ernest Worthing has just

driven over from the station, miss.

He's brought his luggage with him.

"Mr. Ernest Worthing,

B4, The Albany."

Uncle Jacks brother?

Did you tell him

Mr. Worthing was in London?

Yes, miss. He seemed

very much disappointed.

He said he would like to speak to you

privately for a moment.

I've left him in the morning room.

Thank you, Merriman.

I've never met

a really wicked person before.

I feel rather frightened.

I'm so afraid he'll look

just like everyone else.

He does.

You are my little cousin Cecily,

I'm sure.

You are under some

strange misapprehension.

I am not little. In fact, I believe that

I am more than usually tall for my age.

But I am your cousin Cecily.

You, I see from your card,

are Uncle Jacks brother,

my cousin Ernest.

My wicked cousin Ernest.

Oh, I am not really wicked at all,

Cousin Cecily.

You mustn't think I'm wicked.

If you are not, then you have

certainly been deceiving us all...

in a very inexcusable manner.

I hope you have not been leading

a double life,

pretending to be wicked

and being really good all the time.

That would be hypocrisy.

Of course, I...

I have been rather reckless.

I'm glad to hear it.

In fact, now you mention

the subject,

I really have been very bad

in my own small way.

I don't think you should be

so proud of that,

though I'm sure

it must have been very pleasant.

It's much pleasanter

being here with you.

I can't understand

how you're here at all.

Uncle Jack won't be back

till Monday afternoon.

That is a great disappointment.

I'm obliged to go up

by the first train Monday morning.

I have a business appointment

that I am anxious...

to miss.

Couldn't you miss it

anywhere but in London?

No, the appointment is in London.

Well, I know, of course,

how important it is...

not to keep

a business engagement.

Still, I think you had better wait

until Uncle Jack arrives.

I know he wants to speak to you

about your emigrating.

My what?

About your emigrating.

He's gone up to buy your outfit.

I certainly wouldn't allow Jack

to buy my outfit.

He has got absolutely no taste

at all in neckties.

I don't think

that you will require a necktie.

Uncle Jack is sending you

to Australia.

Australia?

I'd sooner die.

He said at dinner on Wednesday

night that you would have to choose...

between this world,

the next world,

and Australia.

Oh. Well, the reports I have

of Australia and the next world...

are not particularly encouraging.

This world is good enough

for me, Cousin Cecily.

Yes. But are you

good enough for it?

Well, no, I am not that.

That is why I would like you

to reform me.

You might make that your mission,

if you don't mind, Cousin Cecily.

I am afraid I have

no time this afternoon.

Well, would you mind

if I reform myself this afternoon?

It is rather romantic of you,

but I think you should try.

I will.

- I feel better already.

- You are looking a little worse.

- That's because I'm hungry.

- Oh, how thoughtless of me!

I should have remembered that when one

is going to lead an entirely new life,

one requires regular

and wholesome meals.

Might I have a buttonhole first?

L-I never have any appetite

unless I have a buttonhole.

A Marechale Niel?

- No, I would sooner have a pink rose.

- Why?

Because you are like a pink rose,

Cousin Cecily.

I don't think it can be right

for you to say such things to me.

Miss Prism never talks like that.

Then Miss Prism is

a shortsighted old lady.

You are the prettiest girl

I ever saw.

Miss Prism says

that all good looks are a snare.

Then they are a snare that any sensible

man would like to be caught in.

Oh?

I don't think I should care

to catch a sensible man.

I wouldn't know

what to talk to him about.

Mr. Worthing.

- Mr. Worthing.

- Dear Mr. Worthing,

I trust this garb of woe does not

betoken some terrible calamity.

- My brother.

- More shameful debts and extravagance?

- Dead.

- Your brother Ernest dead?

Quite dead.

What a lesson for him.

I trust he will profit by it.

Oh, Mr. Worthing, I...

I offer my sincere condolence.

Poor Ernest. He had many faults,

but it is a sad, sad blow.

Oh, very sad indeed.

Were you with him at the end?

No, he died abroad.

In Paris, in fact.

I had a telegram last night

from the manager of the Grand Hotel.

- Was the cause of death mentioned?

- A severe chill, it seems.

As a man sows,

so let him reap.

Charity, dear Miss Prism, charity.

None of us are perfect.

I myself am peculiarly

susceptible to drafts.

Will the interment

take place here?

No, he seems to have expressed

a desire to be buried in Paris.

Paris!

I fear that hardly points to any

very serious state of mind at the last.

Oh, Uncle Jack!

I'm so glad to see you back,

but what horrid clothes

you have got on.

- Cecily!

- My child, my child.

Do look happy.

I have got such a surprise for you.

Who do you think

is in the dining room?

- Your brother!

- Who?

Your brother Ernest.

He arrived about half an hour ago.

Well, what nonsense.

I haven't got a brother.

Oh, don't say that.

However badly he may have behaved

to you in the past,

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