CYRIL. Certainly, if you give me a cigarette. Thanks. By the
way, what magazine do you intend it for?

VIVIAN. For the Retrospective Review. I think I told you that the
elect had revived it.

CYRIL. Whom do you mean by 'the elect'?

VIVIAN. Oh, The Tired Hedonists, of course. It is a club to which
I belong. We are supposed to wear faded roses in our button-holes
when we meet, and to have a sort of cult for Domitian. I am afraid
you are not eligible. You are too fond of simple pleasures.

CYRIL. I should be black-balled on the ground of animal spirits, I
suppose?

VIVIAN. Probably. Besides, you are a little too old. We don't
admit anybody who is of the usual age.

CYRIL. Well, I should fancy you are all a good deal bored with
each other.

VIVIAN. We are. This is one of the objects of the club. Now, if
you promise not to interrupt too often, I will read you my article.

CYRIL. You will find me all attention.

VIVIAN (reading in a very clear, musical voice). THE DECAY OF
LYING: A PROTEST.--One of the chief causes that can be assigned
for the curiously commonplace character of most of the literature