“Here I am as right as the mail, Aunt Kate!  Go on up.  I’ll follow,” called out Gabriel from the dark.

He continued scraping his feet vigorously while the three women went upstairs, laughing, to the ladies’ dressing-room.  A light fringe of snow lay like a cape on the shoulders of his overcoat and like toecaps on the toes of his goloshes; and, as the buttons of his overcoat slipped with a squeaking noise through the snow-stiffened frieze, a cold, fragrant air from out-of-doors escaped from crevices and folds.

“Is it snowing again, Mr. Conroy?” asked Lily.

She had preceded him into the pantry to help him off with his overcoat.  Gabriel smiled at the three syllables she had given his surname and glanced at her.  She was a slim; growing girl, pale in complexion and with hay-coloured hair.  The gas in the pantry made her look still paler.  Gabriel had known her when she was a child and used to sit on the lowest step nursing a rag doll.

“Yes, Lily,” he answered, “and I think we’re in for a night of it.”

He looked up at the pantry ceiling, which was shaking with the stamping and shuffling of feet on the floor above, listened for a moment to the piano and then glanced at the girl, who was folding his overcoat carefully at the end of a shelf.

“Tell me.  Lily,” he said in a friendly tone, “do you still go to school?”

“O no, sir,” she answered.  “I’m done schooling this year and more.”

“O, then,” said Gabriel gaily, “I suppose we’ll be going to your wedding one of these fine days with your young man, eh? "

The girl glanced back at him over her shoulder and said with great bitterness: 

“The men that is now is only all palaver and what they can get out of you.”

Gabriel coloured, as if he felt he had made a mistake and, without looking at her, kicked off his goloshes and flicked actively with his muffler at his patent-leather shoes.

He was a stout, tallish young man.  The high colour of his cheeks pushed upwards even to his forehead, where it scattered itself in a few formless patches of pale red; and on his hairless face there scintillated restlessly the polished lenses and the bright gilt rims of the glasses which screened his delicate and restless eyes.  His glossy black hair was parted in the middle and brushed in a long curve behind his ears where it curled slightly beneath the groove left by his hat.

When he had flicked lustre into his shoes he stood up and pulled his waistcoat down more tightly on his plump body.  Then he took a coin rapidly from his pocket.

“O Lily,” he said, thrusting it into her hands, “it’s Christmastime, isn’t it?  Just... here’s a little....”

He walked rapidly towards the door.

“O no, sir!” cried the girl, following him.  “Really, sir, I wouldn’t take it.”

“Christmas-time!  Christmas-time!” said Gabriel, almost trotting to the stairs and waving his hand to her in deprecation.