His thoughts were running another way.


"She's a fine decent tart," he said, with appreciation; "that's what

she is."


They walked along Nassau Street and then turned into Kildare

Street. Not far from the porch of the club a harpist stood in the

roadway, playing to a little ring of listeners. He plucked at the

wires heedlessly, glancing quickly from time to time at the face of

each new-comer and from time to time, wearily also, at the sky.

His harp, too, heedless that her coverings had fallen about her

knees, seemed weary alike of the eyes of strangers and of her

master's hands. One hand played in the bass the melody of Silent,

O Moyle, while the other hand careered in the treble after each

group of notes. The notes of the air sounded deep and full.


The two young men walked up the street without speaking, the

mournful music following them. When they reached Stephen's

Green they crossed the road. Here the noise of trams, the lights and

the crowd released them from their silence.


"There she is!" said Corley.


At the corner of Hume Street a young woman was standing. She

wore a blue dress and a white sailor hat. She stood on the

curbstone, swinging a sunshade in one hand. Lenehan grew lively.


"Let's have a look at her, Corley," he said.


Corley glanced sideways at his friend and an unpleasant grin

appeared on his face.


"Are you trying to get inside me?" he asked.


"Damn it!" said Lenehan boldly, "I don't want an introduction. All I

want is to have a look at her. I'm not going to eat her."


"O ... A look at her?" said Corley, more amiably. "Well... I'll tell

you what. I'll go over and talk to her and you can pass by."


"Right!" said Lenehan.


Corley had already thrown one leg over the chains when Lenehan

called out:


"And after? Where will we meet?"


"Half ten," answered Corley, bringing over his other leg.


"Where?"


"Corner of Merrion Street. We'll be coming back."


"Work it all right now," said Lenehan in farewell.


Corley did not answer. He sauntered across the road swaying his

head from side to side. His bulk, his easy pace, and the solid sound

of his boots had something of the conqueror in them. He

approached the young woman and, without saluting, began at once

to converse with her. She swung her umbrella more quickly and

executed half turns on her heels. Once or twice when he spoke to

her at close quarters she laughed and bent her head.


Lenehan observed them for a few minutes. Then he walked rapidly

along beside the chains at some distance and crossed the road

obliquely. As he approached Hume Street corner he found the air

heavily scented and his eyes made a swift anxious scrutiny of the

young woman's appearance. She had her Sunday finery on. Her

blue serge skirt was held at the waist by a belt of black leather.

The great silver buckle of her belt seemed to depress the centre of

her body, catching the light stuff of her white blouse like a clip.

She wore a short black jacket with mother-of-pearl buttons and a

ragged black boa. The ends of her tulle collarette had been

carefully disordered and a big bunch of red flowers was pinned in

her bosom stems upwards. Lenehan's eyes noted approvingly her

stout short muscular body. rank rude health glowed in her face, on

her fat red cheeks and in her unabashed blue eyes. Her features

were blunt.