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Updated: May 12, 2025
"O, good-night, Gretta, I didn't see you." "Good-night, Mr. D'Arcy. Good-night, Miss O'Callaghan." "Good-night, Miss Morkan." "Good-night, again." "Good-night, all. Safe home." "Good-night. Good night." The morning was still dark. A dull, yellow light brooded over the houses and the river; and the sky seemed to be descending.
A tall wizen-faced man, with a stiff grizzled moustache and swarthy skin, who was passing out with his partner, said: "And may we have some refreshment, too, Miss Morkan?" "Julia," said Aunt Kate summarily, "and here's Mr. Browne and Miss Furlong. Take them in, Julia, with Miss Daly and Miss Power." "I'm the man for the ladies," said Mr.
"Who was he, Miss Morkan?" asked Mr. Bartell D'Arcy politely. "His name," said Aunt Kate, "was Parkinson. I heard him when he was in his prime and I think he had then the purest tenor voice that was ever put into a man's throat." "Strange," said Mr. Bartell D'Arcy. "I never even heard of him." "Yes, yes, Miss Morkan is right," said Mr. Browne.
He was laughing heartily in a high key at a story which he had been telling Gabriel on the stairs and at the same time rubbing the knuckles of his left fist backwards and forwards into his left eye. "Good-evening, Freddy," said Aunt Julia. Freddy Malins bade the Misses Morkan good-evening in what seemed an offhand fashion by reason of the habitual catch in his voice and then, seeing that Mr.
The two young gentlemen asked the ladies if they might have the pleasure, and Mary Jane turned to Miss Daly. "O, Miss Daly, you're really awfully good, after playing for the last two dances, but really we're so short of ladies tonight." "I don't mind in the least, Miss Morkan." "But I've a nice partner for you, Mr. Bartell D'Arcy, the tenor. I'll get him to sing later on.
She, too, would soon be a shade with the shade of Patrick Morkan and his horse. He had caught that haggard look upon her face for a moment when she was singing Arrayed for the Bridal. Soon, perhaps, he would be sitting in that same drawing-room, dressed in black, his silk hat on his knees.
Gradually as the last glasses were being filled the conversation ceased. A pause followed, broken only by the noise of the wine and by unsettlings of chairs. The Misses Morkan, all three, looked down at the tablecloth. Someone coughed once or twice and then a few gentlemen patted the table gently as a signal for silence. The silence came and Gabriel pushed back his chair.
Midway down they were held up by Mary Jane, who replenished them with raspberry or orange jelly or with blancmange and jam. The pudding was of Aunt Julia's making and she received praises for it from all quarters She herself said that it was not quite brown enough. "Well, I hope, Miss Morkan," said Mr. Browne, "that I'm brown enough for you because, you know, I'm all brown."
His mother had worked for him as a birthday present a waistcoat of purple tabinet, with little foxes' heads upon it, lined with brown satin and having round mulberry buttons. It was strange that his mother had had no musical talent though Aunt Kate used to call her the brains carrier of the Morkan family. Both she and Julia had always seemed a little proud of their serious and matronly sister.
"Why, what was wonderful about Johnny?" asked Mr. Browne. "The late lamented Patrick Morkan, our grandfather, that is," explained Gabriel, "commonly known in his later years as the old gentleman, was a glue-boiler." "O, now, Gabriel," said Aunt Kate, laughing, "he had a starch mill." "Well, glue or starch," said Gabriel, "the old gentleman had a horse by the name of Johnny.
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