waving his hand to her in deprecation.
The girl, seeing that he had gained the stairs, called out after him:
`Well, thank you, sir.'
He waited outside the drawing-room door until the waltz should finish, listening to
the skirts that swept against it and to the shuffling of feet. He was still discomposed
by the girl's bitter and sudden retort. It had cast a gloom over him which he tried to
dispel by arranging his cuffs and the bows of his tie. He then took from his waistcoat
pocket a little paper and glanced at the headings he had made for his speech. He was
undecided about the lines from Robert Browning, for he feared they would be above
the heads of his hearers. Some quotation that they would recognize from Shakespeare
or from the Melodies would be better. The indelicate clacking of the men's heels and
the shuffling of their soles reminded him that their grade of culture differed from his.
He would only make himself ridiculous by quoting poetry to them which they could
not understand. They would think that he was airing his superior education. He would
fail with them just as he had failed with the girl in the pantry. He had taken up a
wrong tone. His whole speech was a mistake from first to last, an utter failure.
Just then his aunts and his wife came out of the ladies' dressing-room. His aunts were
two small, plainly dressed old women. Aunt Julia was an inch or so the taller. Her
hair, drawn low over the tops of her ears, was grey; and grey also, with darker
shadows, was her large flaccid face. Though she was stout in build and stood erect,
her slow eyes and parted lips gave her the appearance of a woman who did not know
where she was or where she was going. Aunt Kate was more vivacious. Her face,
healthier than her sister's, was all puckers and creases, like a shrivelled red apple, and
her hair, braided in the same old-fashioned way, had not lost its ripe nut colour.
They both kissed Gabriel frankly. He was their favourite nephew, the son of their
dead elder sister, Ellen, who had married T. J. Conroy of the Port and Docks.
`Gretta tells me you're not going to take a cab back to Monkstown tonight, Gabriel,'
said Aunt Kate.
`No,' said Gabriel, turning to his wife, `we had quite enough of that last year, hadn't
we? Don't you remember, Aunt Kate, what a cold Gretta got out of it? Cab windows
rattling all the way, and the east wind blowing in after we passed Merrion. Very jolly
it was. Gretta caught a dreadful cold.'
Aunt Kate frowned severely and nodded her head at every word.
`Quite right, Gabriel, quite right,' she said. `You can't be too careful.'
`But as for Gretta there,' said Gabriel, `she'd walk home in the snow if she were let.'
Mrs Conroy laughed.
`Don't mind him, Aunt Kate,' she said. `He's really an awful bother, what with green
shades for Tom's eyes at night and making him do the dumb-bells, and forcing Eva to
eat the stirabout. The poor child! And she simply hates the sight of it!... O, but you'll
never guess what he makes me wear now!'
She broke out into a peal of laughter and glanced at her husband, whose admiring and
happy eyes had been wandering from her dress to her face and hair. The two aunts
laughed heartily, too, for Gabriel's solicitude was a standing joke with them.
`Goloshes!' said Mrs Conroy. `That's the latest. Whenever it's wet underfoot I must
put on my goloshes. Tonight even, he wanted me to put them on, but I wouldn't. The
next thing he'll buy me will be a diving suit.'
Gabriel laughed nervously and patted his tie reassuringly, while Aunt Kate nearly
doubled herself, so heartily did she enjoy the joke. The smile soon faded from Aunt
Julia's face and her mirthless eyes were directed towards her nephew's face. After a
pause she asked:
`And what are goloshes, Gabriel?'
`Goloshes, Julia!' exclaimed her sister. `Goodness me, don't you know what goloshes
are? You wear them over your... over your boots, Gretta, isn't it?'
`Yes,' said Mrs Conroy. `Gutta-percha things. We both have a pair now. Gabriel says
everyone wears them on the Continent.'
`O, on the Continent,' murmured Aunt Julia, nodding her head slowly.
Gabriel knitted his brows and said, as if he were slightly angered:
`It's nothing very wonderful, but Gretta thinks it very funny, because she says the
word reminds her of Christy Minstrels.'
`But tell me, Gabriel,' said Aunt Kate, with brisk tact. `Of course, you've seen about
the room. Gretta was saying... '
`O, the room is all right,' replied Gabriel. `I've taken one in the Gresham.'
`To be sure,' said Aunt Kate, `by far the best thing to do. And the children, Gretta,
you're not anxious about them?'
`O, for one night,' said Mrs Conroy. `Besides, Bessie will look after them.'
`To be sure,' said Aunt Kate again. `What a comfort it is to have a girl like that, one
you can depend on! There's that Lily, I'm sure I don't know what has come over her
lately. She's not the girl she was at all.'
Gabriel was about to ask his aunt some questions on this point, but she broke off
suddenly to gaze after her sister, who had wandered down the stairs and was craning
her neck over the banisters.
`Now, I ask you,'she said almost testily, `where is Julia going? Julia! Julia! Where are
you going?'
Julia, who had gone half-way down one flight, came back and announced blandly:
`Here's Freddy.'
At the same moment a clapping of hands and a final flourish of the pianist told that
the waltz had ended. The drawing-room door was opened from within and some
couples came out. Aunt Kate drew Gabriel aside hurriedly and whispered into his ear:
`Slip down, Gabriel, like a good fellow and see if he's all right, and don't let him up if
he's screwed. I'm sure he's screwed. I'm sure he is.'
Gabriel went to the stairs and listened over the banisters. He could hear two persons
talking in the pantry. Then he recognized Freddy Malins' laugh. He went down the
stairs noisily.
`It's such a relief,' said Aunt Kate to Mrs Conroy, `that Gabriel is here. I always feel
easier in my mind when he's here... Julia, there's Miss Daly and Miss Power will take
some refreshment. Thanks for your beautiful waltz, Miss Daly. It made lovely time.'
A tall wizen-faced man, with a stiff grizzled moustache and swarthy skin, who was
passing out with his partner, said:
`And may we have some refreshment, too, Miss Morkan?'
`Julia,' said Aunt Kate summarily, `and here's Mr Browne and Miss Furlong. Take
them in, Julia, with Miss Daly and Miss Power.'
`I'm the man for the ladies,' said Mr Browne, pursing his lips until his moustache
bristled, and smiling in all his wrinkles. `You know, Miss Morkan, the reason they are
so fond of me is--'
He did not finish his sentence, but, seeing that Aunt Kate was out of earshot, at once
led the three young ladies into the back room. The middle of the room was occupied
by two square tables placed end to end, and on these Aunt Julia and the caretaker
were straightening and smoothing a large cloth. On the sideboard were arrayed dishes
and plates, and glasses and bundles of knives and forks and spoons. The top of the
closed Square piano served also as a sideboard for viands and sweets. At a smaller
sideboard in one corner two young men were standing, drinking hop-bitters.
Mr Browne led his charges thither and invited them all, in jest, to some ladies' punch,
hot, strong, and sweet. As they said they never took anything strong, he opened three
bottles of lemonade for them. Then he asked one of the young men to move aside,
and, taking hold of the decanter, filled out for himself a goodly measure of whisky.
The young men eyed him respectfully while he took a trial sip.
`God help me,' he said, smiling, `it's the doctor's order.'
His wizened face broke into a broader smile, and the three young ladies laughed in
musical echo to his pleasantry, swaying their bodies to and fro, with nervous jerks of
their shoulders. The boldest said:
`O, now, Mr Browne, I'm sure the doctor never ordered anything of the kind.'
Mr Browne took another sip of his whisky and said, with sidling mimicry:
`Well, you see, I'm the famous Mrs Cassidy, who is reported to have said: "Now,
Mary Grimes, if I don't take it, make me take it, for I feel I want it."'
His hot face had leaned forward a little too confidentially and he had assumed a very
low Dublin accent, so that the young ladies, with one instinct, received his speech in
silence. Miss Furlong, who was one of Mary Jane's pupils, asked Miss Daly what was
the name of the pretty waltz she had played; and Mr Browne, seeing that he was
ignored, turned promptly to the two young men, who were more appreciative.
A red-faced young woman, dressed in pansy, came into the room, excitedly clapping
her hands and crying:
`Quadrilles! Quadrilles!'
Close on her heels came Aunt Kate, crying:
`Two gentlemen and three ladies, Mary Jane!'
`O, here's Mr Bergin and Mr Kerrigan,' said Mary Jane. `Mr Kerrigan, will you take
Miss Power? Miss Furlong, may I get you a partner, Mr Bergin. O, that'll just do
now.'
`Three ladies, Mary Jane,' said Aunt Kate.
The two young gentlemen asked the ladies if they might have the pleasure, and Mary
Jane turned to Miss Daly.
`O, Miss Daly, you're really awfully good, after playing for the last two dances, but
really we're so short of ladies tonight.'
`I don't mind in the least, Miss Morkan.'
`But I've a nice partner for you, Mr Bartell D'Arcy, the tenor. I'll get him to sing later
on. All Dublin is raving about him.'
`Lovely voice, lovely voice!' said Aunt Kate.
As the piano had twice begun the prelude to the first figure Mary Jane led her recruits
quickly from the room. They had hardly gone when Aunt Julia wandered slowly into
the room, looking behind her at something.
`What is the matter, Julia?' asked Aunt Kate anxiously. `Who is it?'
Julia, who was carrying in a column of table-napkins, turned to her sister and said,
simply, as if the question had surprised her:
`It's only Freddy, Kate, and Gabriel with him.'
In fact, right behind her Gabriel could be seen piloting Freddy Malins across the
landing. The latter, a young man of about forty, was of Gabriel's size and build, with
very round shoulders. His face was fleshy and pallid, touched with colour only at the
thick hanging lobes of his ears and at the wide wings of his nose. He had coarse
features, a blunt nose, a convex and receding brow, tumid and protruded lips. His
heavy-lidded eyes and the disorder of his scanty hair made him look sleepy. He was
laughing heartily in a high key at a story which he had been telling Gabriel on the
stairs and at the same time rubbing the knuckles of his left fist backwards and
forwards into his left eye.
`Good evening, Freddy,' said Aunt Julia.
Freddy Malins bade the Misses Morkan good evening in what seemed an off-hand
fashion by reason of the habitual catch in his voice and then, seeing that Mr Browne
was grinning at him from the sideboard, crossed the room on rather shaky legs and
began to repeat in an undertone the story he had just told to Gabriel.
`He's not so bad, is he?' said Aunt Kate to Gabriel.
Gabriel's brows were dark, but he raised them quickly and answered:
`O, no, hardly noticeable.'
`Now, isn't he a terrible fellow!' she said. `And his poor mother made him take the
pledge on New Year's Eve. But come on, Gabriel, into the drawing-room.'
Before leaving the room with Gabriel she signalled to Mr Browne by frowning and
shaking her forefinger in warning to and fro. Mr Browne nodded in answer and, when
she had gone, said to Freddy Malins:
`Now, then, Teddy, I'm going to fill you out a good glass of lemonade just to buck
you up.'
Freddy Malins, who was nearing the climax of his story, waved the offer aside
impatiently, but Mr Browne, having first called Freddy Malins' attention to a disarray
in his dress, filled out and handed him a full glass of lemonade. Freddy Malins' left
hand accepted the glass mechanically, his right hand being engaged in the mechanical
readjustment of his dress. Mr Browne, whose face was once more wrinkling with
mirth, poured out for himself a glass of whisky while Freddy Malins exploded, before
he had well reached the climax of his story, in a kink of high-pitched bronchitic
laughter and, setting down his untasted and overflowing glass, began to run the
knuckles of his left fist backwards and forwards into his left eye, repeating words of
his last phrase as well as his fit of laughter would allow him.
Gabriel could not listen while Mary Jane was playing her Academy piece, full of runs
and difficult passages, to the hushed drawing-room. He liked music, but the piece she
was playing had no melody for him and he doubted whether it had any melody for the
other listeners, though they had begged Mary Jane to play something. Four young
men, who had come from the refreshment-room to stand in the doorway at the sound
of the piano, had gone away quietly in couples after a few minutes. The only persons
who seemed to follow the music were Mary Jane herself, her hands racing along the
keyboard or lifted from it at the pauses like those of a priestess in momentary
imprecation, and Aunt Kate standing at her elbow to turn the page.
Gabriel's eyes, irritated by the floor, which glittered with beeswax under the heavy
chandelier, wandered to the wall above the piano. A picture of the balcony scene in
Romeo and Juliet hung there and beside it was a picture of the two murdered princes
in the Tower which Aunt Julia had worked in red, blue, and brown wools when she
was a girl. Probably in the school they had gone to as girls that kind of work had been
taught for one year. His mother had worked for him as a birthday present a waistcoat
