houses, that afternoon, through the doors of which workmen were
thronging. Coming along George street, they had heard from more than one
bar-room the howling of a drunken chorus. Men had staggered by them, and
women too, frowsy and besotted. But there was none of this in Paddy's
Market. It was a serious place, these long dingy arcades, to which people
came to buy cheaply and carefully, people to whom every penny was of
value and who had none to throw away, just then at least, either on a
brain-turning carouse or on a painted courtesan. The people here were sad
and sober and sorrowful. It seemed to Ned that here was collected, as in
the centre of a great vortex, all the pained and tired and ill-fed and
wretched faces that he had been seeing all day. The accumulation of
misery pressed on him till it sickened him at the heart. It felt as
though something clutched at his throat, as though by some mechanical
means his skull was being tightened on his brain. His thoughts were
interrupted by an exclamation from Nellie.

"There's a friend of mine," she explained, making her way through the
crowd to a brown-bearded man who was seated on the edge of an empty
stall, apparently guarding a large empty basket in which were some white
cloths. The man's features were fine and his forehead massive, his face
indicating a frail constitution and strong intellectuality. He wore an
apron rolled up round his waist. He seemed very poor.

"How d'ye do, Miss Lawton?" said he getting off the stall and shaking
hands warmly. "It's quite an age since I saw you. You're looking as well
as ever." Ned saw that his thin face beamed as he spoke and that his dark
brown eyes, though somewhat hectic, wore singularly beautiful.

"I'm well, thanks," said Nellie, beaming in return. "And how are you? You
seem browner than you did. What have you been doing to yourself?"