down the quays to the second-hand
booksellers, to Hickey's on Bachelor's Walk, to Web's or Massey's on
Aston's Quay, or to O'Clohissey's in the bystreet. He did not know how
to meet her charge. He wanted to say that literature was above politics.
But they were friends of many years' standing and their careers had been
parallel, first at the University and then as teachers: he could not
risk a grandiose phrase with her. He continued blinking his eyes and
trying to smile and murmured lamely that he saw nothing political in
writing reviews of books.

When their turn to cross had come he was still perplexed and
inattentive. Miss Ivors promptly took his hand in a warm grasp and said
in a soft friendly tone:

"Of course, I was only joking. Come, we cross now."

When they were together again she spoke of the University question and
Gabriel felt more at ease. A friend of hers had shown her his review
of Browning's poems. That was how she had found out the secret: but she
liked the review immensely. 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.

"But you will come, won't you?" said Miss Ivors, laying her arm hand
eagerly on his arm.

"The fact is," said Gabriel, "I have just arranged to go----"

"Go where?" asked Miss Ivors.

"Well, you know, every year I go for a cycling tour with some fellows
and so----"

"But where?" asked Miss Ivors.

"Well, we usually go to France or Belgium or perhaps Germany," said
Gabriel awkwardly.

"And why do you go to France and Belgium," said Miss Ivors, "instead of
visiting your own land?"

"Well," said Gabriel, "it's partly to keep in touch with the languages
and partly for a change."

"And haven't you your own language to keep in touch with--Irish?" asked
Miss Ivors.

"Well," said Gabriel, "if it comes to that, you know, Irish is not my
language."

Their neighbours had turned to listen to the cross-examination. Gabriel
glanced right and left nervously and tried to keep his good humour under
the ordeal which was making a blush invade his forehead.

"And haven't you your own land to visit," continued Miss Ivors, "that
you know nothing of