"But my little Kitty is only six years old," said the Rector. "Ah, my friends, I can't live as long as that. I know it. I don't want to talk of it, but I know it."
"Father, dear father, we'll manage it somehow," interrupted Dominic.
"Sit down, laddie, and let your father speak," said Walters. "You are down-hearted, O'Brien."
"And for my part," said O'More, "I should like to know what is to become of your second wife. I hear plenty of talk of her being a very fine lady indeed. I suppose if such an unlikely thing did happen as your being called hence, she naturally would take care of the little one."
"Ah, there is the trouble," said O'Brien. "My wife has abundant means of her own. Fifty thousand pounds of her own, no less. She has two daughters, and she intends to spend all her money on them, and refuses to do anything for my pretty Maureen."
O'More suddenly got up, went over to Walters and whispered something into his ear. Walters nodded emphatically.
"Perhaps we have no right to tell you, sir," said O'More, "but I think the time has arrived for you to get a bit of comfort out of it. At the time of her marriage your second wife was madly in love with you. Was that not so?"
"I thought it was so at the time," said O'Brien. "Well, she proved it in a very decisive way, for we both received a letter from her lawyers in London, Messrs. Debenham and Druce, who told us that she had made a will in your favour, and that if by any chance she died before you, her property was to be equally divided between you, and her children and yours, including Maureen by name."
"Constance couldn't have said that," said the Rector.
"She did. It is all in black and white. And I have a copy of the will, which I asked the London lawyers for, and Maureen's name is mentioned."