“Mr. Holohan, I want to speak to you for a moment,” she said.

They went down to a discreet part of the corridor.  Mrs Kearney asked him when was her daughter going to be paid.  Mr. Holohan said that Mr. Fitzpatrick had charge of that.  Mrs. Kearney said that she didn’t know anything about Mr. Fitzpatrick.  Her daughter had signed a contract for eight guineas and she would have to be paid.  Mr. Holohan said that it wasn’t his business.

“Why isn’t it your business?” asked Mrs. Kearney.  “Didn’t you yourself bring her the contract?  Anyway, if it’s not your business it’s my business and I mean to see to it.”

“You’d better speak to Mr. Fitzpatrick,” said Mr. Holohan distantly.

“I don’t know anything about Mr. Fitzpatrick,” repeated Mrs. Kearney.  “I have my contract, and I intend to see that it is carried out.”

When she came back to the dressing-room her cheeks were slightly suffused.  The room was lively.  Two men in outdoor dress had taken possession of the fireplace and were chatting familiarly with Miss Healy and the baritone.  They were the Freeman man and Mr. O’Madden Burke.  The Freeman man had come in to say that he could not wait for the concert as he had to report the lecture which an American priest was giving in the Mansion House.  He said they were to leave the report for him at the Freeman office and he would see that it went in.  He was a grey-haired man, with a plausible voice and careful manners.  He held an extinguished cigar in his hand and the aroma of cigar smoke floated near him.  He had not intended to stay a moment because concerts and artistes bored him considerably but he remained leaning against the mantelpiece.  Miss Healy stood in front of him, talking and laughing.  He was old enough to suspect one reason for her politeness but young enough in spirit to turn the moment to account.  The warmth, fragrance and colour of her body appealed to his senses.  He was pleasantly conscious that the bosom which he saw rise and fall slowly beneath him rose and fell at that moment for him, that the laughter and fragrance and wilful glances were his tribute.  When he could stay no longer he took leave of her regretfully.

“O’Madden Burke will write the notice,” he explained to Mr. Holohan, “and I’ll see it in.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Hendrick,” said Mr. Holohan. you’ll see it in, I know.  Now, won’t you have a little something before you go?”

“I don’t mind,” said Mr. Hendrick.

The two men went along some tortuous passages and up a dark staircase and came to a secluded room where one of the stewards was uncorking bottles for a few gentlemen.  One of these gentlemen was Mr. O’Madden Burke, who had found out the room by instinct.  He was a suave, elderly man who balanced his imposing body, when at rest, upon a large silk umbrella.  His magniloquent western name was the moral umbrella upon which he balanced the fine problem of his finances.  He was widely respected.