Drummle. Drummle. Yes, yes, but absolutely at the end there was reconciliation between husband and wife, and she[25] won his promise that the child should complete her conventual education. He reaped his reward. When he attempted to gain his girl's confidence and affection he was too late; he found he was dealing with the spirit of the mother. You remember his visit to Ireland last month? [25] Jayne. Jayne. Yes. Drummle. Drummle. That was to wish his girl good-bye. Misquith. Misquith. Poor fellow? Drummle. Drummle. He sent for me when he came back. I think he must have had a lingering hope that the girl would relent—would come to life, as it were—at the last moment, for, for an hour or so, in this room, he was terribly shaken. I'm sure he'd clung to that hope from the persistent way in which he kept breaking off in his talk to repeat one dismal word, as if he couldn't realise his position without dinning this damned word into his head. Jayne. Jayne. What word was that?[26] [26]
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