Gwendolen. Yes, I am quite well aware of the fact. And I often
wish that in public, at any rate, you had been more demonstrative.
For me you have always had an irresistible fascination. Even before
I met you I was far from indifferent to you. [Jack looks at her in
amazement.] We live, as I hope you know, Mr Worthing, in an age of
ideals. The fact is constantly mentioned in the more expensive
monthly magazines, and has reached the provincial pulpits, I am
told; and my ideal has always been to love some one of the name of
Ernest. There is something in that name that inspires absolute
confidence. The moment Algernon first mentioned to me that he had a
friend called Ernest, I knew I was destined to love you.

Jack. You really love me, Gwendolen?

Gwendolen. Passionately!

Jack. Darling! You don't know how happy you've made me.

Gwendolen. My own Ernest!

Jack. But you don't really mean to say that you couldn't love me if
my name wasn't Ernest?

Gwendolen. But your name is Ernest.

Jack. Yes, I know it is. But supposing it was something else? Do
you mean to say you couldn't love me then?

Gwendolen. [Glibly.] Ah! that is clearly a metaphysical