`I'm surprised at you, Mrs Kearney,' said Mr Holohan. `I never thought you would treat us this way.'

`And what way did you treat me?' asked Mrs Kearney.

Her face was inundated with an angry colour and she looked as if she would attack someone with her hands.

`I'm asking for my rights,' she said.

`You might have some sense of decency,' said Mr Holohan.

`Might I, indeed?... And when I ask when my daughter is going to be paid I can't get a civil answer.'

She tossed her head and assumed a haughty voice:

`You must speak to the secretary. It's not my business. I'm a great fellow fol-the-diddle-I-do.'

`I thought you were a lady,' said Mr Holohan, walking away from her abruptly.

After that Mrs Kearney's conduct was condemned on all hands: everyone approved of what the committee had done. She stood at the door, haggard with rage, arguing with her husband and daughter, gesticulating with them. She waited until it was time for the second part to begin in the hope that the secretaries would approach her. But Miss Healy had kindly consented to play one or two accompaniments. Mrs Kearney had to stand aside to allow the baritone and his accompanist to pass up to the platform. She stood still for an instant like an angry stone image and, when the first notes of the song struck her ear, she caught up her daughter's cloak and said to her husband:

`Get a cab!'

He went out at once. Mrs Kearney wrapped the cloak round her daughter and followed him. As she passed through the doorway she stopped and glared into Mr Holohan's face.

`I'm not done with you yet,' she said.

`But I'm done with you,' said Mr Holohan.

Kathleen followed her mother meekly. Mr Holohan began to pace up and down the room in order to cool himself, for he felt his skin on fire.

`That's a nice lady!' he said. `O, she's a nice lady!'

`You did the proper thing, Holohan,' said Mr O'Madden Burke, poised upon his umbrella in approval.