I can only compare it to the best of Congreve, and I think it's better." With a grunt of disapproval or rage the great man of the daily press turned away to exchange bleatings with one of his _confreres_.
The audience was a picked audience of the best heads in London, far superior in brains therefore to the average journalist, and their judgment was that it was a most brilliant and interesting play.

Though the humour was often prepared, the construction showed a rare mastery of stage-effect.

Oscar Wilde had at length come into his kingdom.
At the end the author was called for, and Oscar appeared before the curtain.

The house rose at him and cheered and cheered again.

He was smiling, with a cigarette between his fingers, wholly master of himself and his audience.
"I am so glad, ladies and gentlemen, that you like my play.[10] I feel sure you estimate the merits of it almost as highly as I do myself." The house rocked with laughter.