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Updated: June 10, 2025
One June day that promised to be fresh and cool they walked through the woods above the lake of Albano. Stacia Conry hummed the words of a song that Vickers had written and set to music, one of a cycle they had planned for her to sing the Songs of the Cities. This was the song of Rome, and in it Vickers had embedded the sad strain that the girl sang coming up the street, the cry of the past.
It was a sight surprising to behold. But perhaps you may have heard of Father Florence Conry, as pleasant a man as one would wish to drink with of a hot summer's day; and he had rhymed out all about the dancing fishes so neatly that it would be a thousand pities not to give you his verses; so here they are in English: The big seals in motion, Like waves of the ocean, Or gouty feet prancing, Came heading the gay fish, Crabs, lobsters, and cray-fish, Determined on dancing.
Conry glanced quickly into the room as they entered, as if expecting to find some one there. Vickers was saying: "I think we shall have to add another one to the Cycle, New York or something to stand for well, what it is over here, just living!" The door of the inner room opened and a man appeared, coatless, with a much-flowered waistcoat. "So you're back," the man remarked in a heavy voice.
"Miss Daisy May is such a perfect dear, don't you think, mamma? Couldn't Miss Joyce take me to see her act next Saturday afternoon? It's a perfectly nice play, you know." Repressing a desire to shake her daughter, Isabelle replied: "I'll take you myself, Molly. And shan't we invite Delia Conry? You know she is at school here and has very few friends." "Oh!" Molly said thoughtfully.
The next morning when Vickers entered his sister's library, Stacia Conry rose from the lounge where she had been lying reading a newspaper, and waited hesitantly while he came forward. She was very pretty this morning, with a faint touch of rose beneath her pale skin, her long lashes falling over fresh, shy eyes.
Gone off with a fresh orange. Vick doesn't realize his luck, he's plain dazed. Before the other orange becomes dry, it is our simple duty yours and mine to remove the stranded hero out of reach. I think you can do it now.... I forgot to say that the Conry left with him a pledge of her return in the shape of a lump of a girl, her daughter by Conry.
And this what she sought to escape from by her music, to place herself and her child beyond the touch of that man! Vickers in his disgust overlooked the fact that little Delia seemed to love her father, and that though Conry might not be to his taste, he might also be a perfectly worthy citizen, given occasionally to liquor. But love and youth and the idealizing temperament make few allowances.
In vain did Florence Conry, Archbishop of Tuam, call upon the Catholic members to stand firm against such injustice. His warning, that if they consented to the robbery of their co-religionists of the North their own turn to be robbed would surely come, fell upon deaf ears.
In the confusion at the pier while the numerous trunks were being disgorged, Vickers stood apart with Delia Conry and had an opportunity to observe the quiet, efficient manner in which John Lane arranged everything. He had greeted Isabelle and his mother impartially, with a family kiss for both.
"My husband," Mrs. Conry explained, "Mr. Vickers Price!" Mr. Conry shuffled heavily into the room. He was a large man with a big grizzled head and very red face, finely chased with purple veins. He gave Vickers a stubby hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Price. Heard about you from Delia. Sit down." Conry himself stood, swaying slightly on his stout legs.
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