mother died. Drummle Yes, yes, but absolutely at the end there was reconciliation between husband and wife, and she 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? Jayne Yes. Drummle That was to wish his girl goodbye. Misquith Poor fellow? 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 What word was that? Drummle Alone⁠—alone. Aubrey enters. Aubrey A thousand apologies! Drummle Gaily. We are talking about you, my dear Aubrey. During the telling of the story, Misquith has risen and gone to the fire, and Drummle has thrown himself full-length on the sofa. Aubrey now joins Misquith and Jayne. Aubrey Well, Cayley, are you surprised? Drummle Surp⁠—! I haven’t been surprised for twenty years. Aubrey And you’re not angry with me? Drummle Angry! Rising. Because you considerately withhold the name of a lady with whom it is now the object of my life to become acquainted? My dear fellow, you pique my curiosity, you give zest to my existence! And as for a wedding, who on earth wants to attend that familiar and probably draughty function? Ugh! My cigar’s out. Aubrey Let’s talk about something else. Misquith Looking at his watch. Not tonight, Aubrey. Aubrey My dear Frank! Misquith I go up to Scotland tomorrow, and there are some little matters⁠— Jayne I am off too. Aubrey No, no. Jayne I must: I have to give a look to a case in Clifford Street on my way home. Aubrey Going to the door. Well! Misquith and Jayne exchange looks with Drummle. Opening the door and calling. Morse, hats and coats! I shall write to you all next week from Genoa or Florence. Now, doctor, Frank, remember, my love to Mrs. Misquith and to Mrs. Jayne! Morse enters with hats and coats. Misquith and Jayne Yes, yes⁠—yes, yes. Aubrey And your young people! As Misquith and Jayne put on their coats there is the clatter of careless talk. Jayne Cayley, I meet you at dinner on Sunday. Drummle At the Stratfields’. That’s very pleasant. Misquith Putting on his coat with Aubrey’s aid. Ah-h! Aubrey What’s wrong? Misquith A twinge. Why didn’t I go to Aix in August? Jayne Shaking hands with Drummle. Good night, Cayley. Drummle Good night, my dear doctor! Misquith Shaking hands with Drummle. Cayley, are you in town for long? Drummle Dear friend, I’m nowhere for long. Good night. Misquith Good night. Aubrey, Jayne, and Misquith go out, followed by Morse; the hum of talk is continued outside. Aubrey A cigar, Frank? Misquith No, thank you. Aubrey Going to walk, doctor? Jayne If Frank will. Misquith By all means. Aubrey It’s a cold night. The door is closed. Drummle remains standing with his coat on his arm and his hat in his hand. Drummle To himself, thoughtfully. Now then! What the devil⁠—! Aubrey returns. Aubrey Eyeing Drummle a little awkwardly. Well, Cayley? Drummle Well, Aubrey? Aubrey walks up to the fire and stands looking into it. Aubrey You’re not going, old chap? Drummle Sitting. No. Aubrey After a slight pause, with a forced laugh. Hah! Cayley, I never thought I should feel⁠—shy⁠—with you. Drummle Why do you? Aubrey Never mind. Drummle Now, I can quite understand a man wishing to be married in the dark, as it were. Aubrey You can? Drummle In your place I should very likely adopt the same course. Aubrey You think so? Drummle And if I intended marrying a lady not prominently in Society, as I presume you do⁠—as I presume you do⁠— Aubrey Well? Drummle As I presume you do, I’m not sure that I should tender her for preliminary dissection at afternoon tea-tables. Aubrey No? Drummle In fact, there is probably only one person⁠—were I in your position tonight⁠—with whom I should care to chat the matter over. Aubrey Who’s that? Drummle Yourself, of course. Going to Aubrey and standing beside him. Of course, yourself, old friend. Aubrey After a pause. I must seem a brute to you, Cayley. But there are some acts which are hard to explain, hard to defend⁠— Drummle To defend⁠—? Aubrey Some acts which one must trust to time to put right. Drummle watches him for a moment, then takes up his hat and coat. Drummle Well, I’ll be moving. Aubrey Cayley! Confound you and your old friendship! Do you think I forget it? Put your coat down! Why did you stay behind here? Cayley, the lady I am going to marry is the lady⁠—who is known as⁠— Mrs. Jarman. There is a pause. Drummle In a low voice. Mrs. Jarman! are you serious? He walks up to the fireplace, where he leans upon the mantelpiece uttering something like a groan. Aubrey As you’ve got this out of me I give you leave to say all you care to say. Come, we’ll be plain with each other. You know Mrs. Jarman? Drummle I first met her at⁠—what does it matter? Aubrey Yes, yes, everything! Come! Drummle I met her at Homburg, two⁠—three seasons ago. Aubrey Not as Mrs. Jarman? Drummle No. Aubrey She was then⁠—? Drummle Mrs. Dartry. Aubrey Yes. She has also seen you in London, she says. Drummle Certainly. Aubrey In Aldford Street. Go on. Drummle Please! Aubrey I insist. Drummle With a slight shrug of the shoulders. Some time last year I was asked by a man to sup at his house, one night after the theatre. Aubrey Mr. Selwyn Ethurst⁠—a bachelor. Drummle Yes. Aubrey You were surprised therefore to find Mr. Ethurst aided in his cursed hospitality by a lady. Drummle I was unprepared. Aubrey The lady you had known as Mrs. Dartry?