Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. A sinister thought edged in. " "Fill your glasses, gentlemen," observed Ireton, "and I'll tell you a droll thing Jack said this morning. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father. Ann Veronica, who knew her dress became her, dropped a curtsy to her father’s regard.
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