―What’s that? Martin Cunningham said.

All turned where they stood; John Wyse Nolan came down again. From the cool shadow of the doorway he saw the horses pass Parliament street, harness and glossy pasterns in sunlight shimmering. Gaily they went past before his cool unfriendly eyes, not quickly. In saddles of the leaders, leaping leaders, rode outriders.

―What was it? Martin Cunningham asked, as they went on up the staircase.

―The lord lieutenant general and general governor of Ireland, John Wyse Nolan answered from the stairfoot.

As they trod across the thick carpet Buck Mulligan whispered behind his Panama to Haines.

―Parnell’s brother. There in the corner.

They chose a small table near the window opposite a longfaced man whose beard and gaze hung intently down on a chessboard.