"You are looking ill--very ill," said George, taking his seat.
Ireland nodded. "I can't live long," he remarked in his heavy voice. "So the doctor informs me. My heart is extremely weak. I may die at any moment."
George was shocked. "It's not so bad as that, I hope," he said.
"It's as bad as it well can be. For the last few days I have deviated sadly from my usual habits. I have not taken a walk, and my system of life is quite upset. It's the beginning of the end." He paused and sighed. "You are looking well, George."
"I have every reason to. Mrs. Ward has consented to my marriage."
"With her daughter? How is that?"
"Well, the church where my parents were married has been discovered."
Ireland looked interested. "That is good news. Where were they married?"
"In Wargrove Church. It is a parish in Essex, an hour's journey from town. Quite a small place."
Ireland made the same remark that George himself had made. "Strange," he said, "that being so near town the place was not discovered before. I have no doubt that your advertisement set many people hunting. Well, I'm glad that the marriage has been proved at last, both for your sake and in justice to the woman I loved--to her dear memory. She was Rosina Vane after all."