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—Did you hear what I said? asked Stephen, bending towards her. I told you I had no money. I tell you again now.
—Well, sure, you will some day, sir, please God, the girl answered after an instant.
—Possibly, said Stephen, but I don't think it likely.
He left her quickly, fearing that her intimacy might turn to gibing and wishing to be out of the way before she offered her ware to another, a tourist from England or a student of Trinity. Grafton Street, along which he walked, prolonged that moment of discouraged poverty. In the roadway at the head of the street a slab was set to the memory of Wolfe Tone and he remembered having been present with his father at its laying. He remembered with bitterness that scene of tawdry tribute. There were four French delegates in a brake and one, a plump smiling young man, held,wedged on a stick, a card on which were printed the words: Vive l'Irlande!