[She seats herself near him beside the brook, keeps close, though
unnoticed, watch upon him, and, as though in absence of mind,
plucks some flowers form the shrubs around them.
[With apparent self-control.] I should have borne children in the world—many children—real children—not such children as are hidden away in grave-vaults. That was my vocation. I ought never to have served you—poet.
[Lost in recollection.] Yet those were beautiful days, Irene. Marvellously beautiful days—as I now look back upon them—
[Looking at him with a soft expression.] Can you remember a little word that you said—when you had finished—finished with me and with our child? [Nods to him.] Can you remember that little word, Arnold?
[Looks inquiringly at her.] Did I say a little word then, which you still remember?
Yes, you did. Can you not recall it?
[Shaking his head.] No, I can't say that I do. Not at the present moment, at any rate.
You took both my hands and pressed them warmly. And I stood there in breathless expectation. And then you said: "So now, Irene, I thank you from my heart. This," you said, "has been a priceless episode for me."
[Looks doubtfully at her.] Did I say "episode"? It is not a word I am in the habit of using.
You said "episode."