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Updated: June 24, 2025
I have loved Salemina always, even when she used to part her hair in the middle and wear spectacles; but that is the first time I ever wanted to paint her, with the firelight shining on the soft, restful greys and violets of her dress, and Broona in her arms. Of course, if a woman is ever to be lovely at all, it will be when she is holding a child.
I notice that she tries to make me divert their attention when Dr. Gerald is present; for it is a bit suggestive to a widower to see his children pursue, hang about, and caress a lovely, unmarried lady. Broona, especially, can hardly keep away from Salemina; and she is such a fascinating midget, I should think anybody would be glad to have her included in a marriage contract.
'You have a weeny, weeny line between your eyebrows, just like my daddy's, she said to Salemina the other day. 'It's such a little one, perhaps I can kiss it away; but daddy has too many, and they are cutted too deep. Sometimes he whispers, 'Daddy is sad, Broona, and then I say, 'Play up, play up, and play the game! and that makes him smile."
"And then, as I was saying before being interrupted by the entire family, we will go and visit the Irish cousins, Jackeen and Broona, who belong to Aunt Salemina and Uncle Gerald, and the Sally-baby will be the centre of attraction because she is her Aunt Salemina's godchild " "But we are all God's children," insisted Billy. "Of course we are."
Another foreign mail is in and the village postmistress has sent an impassioned request that I steam off the stamps for her boy's album, enriched during my residence here by specimens from eleven different countries. Gerald La Touche, wife of Professor La Touche, of Trinity College, Dublin, and stepmother to Jackeen and Broona La Touche.
I didn't know who they were nor where they came from, but while the nurse was getting her supper I made them comfortable, and Broona went to sleep with my strange hand in hers.
His late wife, a poor, flighty, frivolous invalid, the kind of woman who always entangles a sad, vague, absent-minded scholar, had died six years before, and never were there two children so in need of a mother as Jackeen and Broona, a couple of affectionate, hot-headed, bewitching, ragged, tousled Irish darlings. I would cheerfully have married Dr.
Broona was planning her future life when we were walking together yesterday. Jackeen is to be 'an engineer, by the sea, so it seems, and Broona is to be a farmer's wife with a tiny red bill-book like Mrs. Colquhoun's.
Broona and Jackeen had lunched with us at the Old Hall, and, inebriated by broiled chicken, green peas, and a half holiday, flitted like fireflies through Aunt David's garden, showing all its treasures to the two new friends, already in high favour.
Broona flung her arms tempestuously around Salemina's neck, exclaiming between her sobs, "Good-bye, my thousand, thousand blessings!" an expression so Irish that we laughed and cried in one breath at the sound of it. Here we are in the midst of life once more, though to be sure it is Irish life, which moves less dizzily than our own.
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