crossblind of the Ormond bar heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing steel.
—Is that her? asked Miss Kennedy.
Miss Douce said yes, sitting with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil.
—Exquisite contrast, Miss Kennedy said.
When all agog Miss Douce said eagerly:
—Look at the fellow in the tall silk.
—Who? Where? gold asked more eagerly.
—In the second carriage, Miss Douce's wet lips said, laughing in the sun. He's looking. Mind till I see.
She darted, bronze, to the backmost corner, flattening her face against the pane in a halo of hurried breath.
Her wet lips tittered:
—He’s killed looking back.
She laughed:
—O wept! Aren’t men frightful idiots?
With sadness.
Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, twining a loose hair behind an ear. Sauntering sadly, gold no more, she twisted twined a hair. Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind a curving ear.
—It’s them has the fine times, sadly then she said.
A man.
Bloowho went by by Moulang’s pipes, bearing in his breast the sweets of sin, by Wine’s antiques in memory bearing sweet sinful words, by Carroll’s dusky battered plate, for Raoul.
The boots to them, them in the bar, them barmaids came. For them unheeding him he banged on the counter his tray of chattering china. And
—There’s your teas, he said.
Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to an upturned lithia crate, safe from eyes, low.
—What is it? loud boots unmannerly asked.
—Find out, Miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint.
—Your beau, is it?
A haughty bronze replied:
—I’ll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear any more of your impertinent insolence.
—Imperthnthn thnthnthn, bootsnout sniffed rudely, as he retreated as she threatened as he had come.
