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Updated: June 5, 2025
"Of course, you've seen about the room. Gretta was saying..." "O, the room is all right," replied Gabriel. "I've taken one in the Gresham." "To be sure," said Aunt Kate, "by far the best thing to do. And the children, Gretta, you're not anxious about them?" "O, for one night," said Mrs. Conroy. "Besides, Bessie will look after them." "To be sure," said Aunt Kate again.
She did not answer nor yield wholly to his arm. He said again, softly: "Tell me what it is, Gretta. I think I know what is the matter. Do I know?" She did not answer at once. Then she said in an outburst of tears: "O, I am thinking about that song, The Lass of Aughrim." She broke loose from him and ran to the bed and, throwing her arms across the bed-rail, hid her face.
It was Gretta who had nursed her during all her last long illness in their house at Monkstown. He knew that Mary Jane must be near the end of her piece for she was playing again the opening melody with runs of scales after every bar and while he waited for the end the resentment died down in his heart. The piece ended with a trill of octaves in the treble and a final deep octave in the bass.
Gabriel says everyone wears them on the Continent." "O, on the Continent," murmured Aunt Julia, nodding her head slowly. Gabriel knitted his brows and said, as if he were slightly angered: "It's nothing very wonderful, but Gretta thinks it very funny because she says the word reminds her of Christy Minstrels." "But tell me, Gabriel," said Aunt Kate, with brisk tact.
"But as for Gretta there," said Gabriel, "she'd walk home in the snow if she were let." Mrs. Conroy laughed. "Don't mind him, Aunt Kate," she said. "He's really an awful bother, what with green shades for Tom's eyes at night and making him do the dumb-bells, and forcing Eva to eat the stirabout. The poor child!
He tried to keep up his tone of cold interrogation, but his voice when he spoke was humble and indifferent. "I suppose you were in love with this Michael Furey, Gretta," he said. "I was great with him at that time," she said. Her voice was veiled and sad.
Then she said suddenly: "O, Mr. Conroy, will you come for an excursion to the Aran Isles this summer? We're going to stay there a whole month. It will be splendid out in the Atlantic. You ought to come. Mr. Clancy is coming, and Mr. Kilkelly and Kathleen Kearney. It would be splendid for Gretta too if she'd come. She's from Connacht, isn't she?" "Her people are," said Gabriel shortly.
'Don't you know, says Gretta to one of the latter, 'that an Australian girl's first aim is to captivate an Englishman of rank and be translated to a higher sphere failing that, to make the best of a rich squatter?
Gretta Loring's grandfather had been one of its founders founding it in revolt against the cramping sectarianism of another college.
The beautiful Honoria Longleat reclining in a hammock under the vine-trellised verandah at Kooralbyn, stray shafts of sunlight imparting a warm chestnut tint to her hair, a trailing withe of orange begonia touching her shoulder, a book in her lap and a bundle of guavas on the ground beside her; Elsie Valliant waiting for her lover on the rocky crossing of Luya Dell, framed between two giant cedars and outlined cameo-like against the blue sky; Gretta Reay, the proud, sturdy little belle of Doondi, with upturned sleeves at her churn, pretending unconcern when she is surprised by her English visitors these are some of the pictures in which the author commemorates much that is noteworthy in the warmth and colour of tropical Australia and in the daily life of its inhabitants.
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