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?

Jack. [Embracing her.] Yes . . . mother!