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The morning-room of Algernon Moncrieff's flat in Half-Moon Street was luxuriously and artistically furnished. From the next room came the sound of a piano. Lane, the manservant, was arranging afternoon tea on the table. When the music stopped, Algernon came in.

"Did you hear what I was playing, Lane?"

"I didn't think it polite to listen, sir."

"I'm sorry for that, for your sake. I don't play accurately. Any one can play accurately. But I play with wonderful expression. As far as the piano is concerned, sentiment is my forte. I keep science for Life."

"Yes, sir."

"And, speaking of the science of Life, have you got the cucumber sandwiches cut for Lady Bracknell?"

Lane handed them to him on a silver tray. "Yes, sir."

Algernon inspected them, took two, and sat down on the sofa. "Oh! By the way, Lane, I see from your book that on Thursday night, when Lord Shoreman and Mr. Worthing were dining with me, eight bottles of champagne are entered as having been consumed."