a broad ribbon of black velvet around it.
She wished earnestly that she had a sash of black velvet about three
inches deep to go round her waist. There was such a piece about the
hem of her mother's Sunday skirt, but, of course, that could not be
touched; maybe, her mother would give it to her if she asked. The
skirt would look quite as well without it, and when her mother knew
how nice it looked round her waist she would certainly give it to her.

She gave a last look at herself in the glass and went out, turning up
to the quays in the direction of the Phoenix Park. The sun was
shining gloriously, and the streets seemed wonderfully clean in the
sunlight. The horses under the heavy drays pulled their loads as if
they were not heavy. The big, red-faced drivers leaned back at ease,
with their hard hats pushed back from their foreheads and their eyes
puckered at the sunshine. The tram-cars whizzed by like great jewels.
The outside cars went spanking down the broad road, and every
jolly-faced jarvey winked at her as he jolted by. The people going up
and down the street seemed contented and happy. It was one o'clock,
and from all kinds of offices and shops young men and women were
darting forth for their lunch; none of the young men were so hurried
but they had a moment to glance admiringly at Mary Makebelieve before
diving into a cheap restaurant or cheaper public-house for their
food. The gulls in the river were flying in long, lazy curves, dipping
down to the water, skimming it an instant, and then wheeling up again
with easy, slanting wings. Every few minutes a boat laden with barrels
puffed swiftly from beneath a bridge. All these boats had pretty
names--there was the _Shannon_, the _Suir_, the _Nore_, the _Lagan_,
and many others. The men on board sat contentedly on the barrels and
smoked and made slow remarks to one another; and overhead the sky was
blue and wonderful, immeasurably distant, filled from horizon to
horizon with sparkle and warmth. Mary Makebelieve went slowly on
towards the Park. She felt very happy. Now and then a darker spot
flitted through her mind, not at all obscuring, but toning the
brightness of her thoughts to a realizable serenity. She wished her
skirts were long enough to be held up languidly like the lady walking
in front: the hand holding up the skirt had a golden curb-chain on
the wrist which drooped down to the neatly gloved hand, and between
each link of the chain was set a blue turquoise