Whatever he says makes her laugh immoderately. It is easy to bring smiles to her lips at any time,—her heart having kept at a standstill whilst her body grew old,—but now she seems particularly fetched.
"Yes, yes, my dear Olga, let them have their own way," she says merrily.
"Very good. Let us consider it settled," says Mrs. Bohun. "But I should like some tableaux afterwards, as a wind-up."
"Yes, certainly," says Ronayne. "What do you think, Madam?"
"I have set my mind on them," says his old hostess, gayly. "You are such a handsome boy, Ulic, that I'm bent on seeing you in fancy clothes; and so is somebody else, I daresay. Look at the children, how they steal towards us; were there ever such demure little mice? Come here, Georgie, my son, I have peaches and pretty things for you."
The kind old soul holds out her arms to two beautiful children, a boy and a girl, who are coming slowly, shyly towards her. They are so like Hermia Herrick as to be unmistakably hers. The boy, coming straight to Madame O'Connor, climbs up on her lap and lays his bonny cheek against hers; but the girl, running to her mother, who is busy over the tea-tray, nestles close to her.
"Gently, my soul," say Hermia, in a soft whisper. Though she still calmly pours out the tea, with Kelly beside her, she lets the unoccupied hand fall, to mingle with the golden tresses of the child. As her hand meets the little sunny head, a marvellous sweetness creeps into her face and transfixes it to a heavenly beauty. Kelly, watching her, marks the change.
Going round to the child, he would have taken her in his arms,—as [is] his habit with most children, being a special favorite in every nursery; but this little dame, drawing back from him, repels him coldly. Then, as though fearing herself ungracious, she slowly extends to him a tiny, friendly hand, which he accepts. The likeness between this grave baby and her graver mother is so remarkable as to be almost ludicrous.
"I think you haven't given Mr. Kelly even one kiss to-day," says her mother, smiling faintly, and pressing the child closer to her. "She is a cold little thing, is she not?"
"I suppose she inherits it," says Owen Kelly, without lifting his eyes from the child's fair face.