At the corner of Hume Street a young woman was standing. She wore a blue dress and a white sailor hat. She stood on the kerbstone, swinging a sunshade in one hand. Lenehan grew lively.

`Let's have a look at her, Corley,' he said.

Corley glanced sideways at his friend, and an unpleasant grin appeared on his face.

`Are you trying to get inside me?' he asked.

`Damn it!' said Lenehan boldly, `I don't want an introduction. All I want is to have a look at her. I'm not going to eat her.'

`O... A look at her?' said Corley, more amiably. `Well. I'll tell you what. I'll go over and talk to her and you can pass by.'

`Right!' said Lenehan.

Corley had already thrown one leg over the chains when Lenehan called out:

`And after? Where will we meet?'

`Half ten,' answered Corley, bringing over his other leg.

`Where?'

`Corner of Merrion Street. We'll be coming back.'

`Work it all right now,' said Lenehan in farewell.

Corley did not answer. He sauntered across the road swaying his head from side to side. His bulk, his easy pace, and the solid sound of his boots had something of the conqueror in them. He approached the young woman and, without saluting, began at once to converse with her. She swung her umbrella more quickly and executed half turns on her heels. Once or twice when he spoke to her at close quarters she laughed and bent her head.

Lenehan observed them for a few minutes. Then he walked rapidly along beside the chains at some distance and crossed the road obliquely. As he approached Hume Street corner he found the air heavily scented, and his eyes made a swift anxious scrutiny of the young woman's appearance. She had her Sunday finery on. Her blue serge skirt was held at the waist by a belt of black leather. The great silver buckle of her belt seemed to depress the centre of her body, catching the light stuff of her white blouse like a clip.