“It’s as plain as the palm of my hand.  Why should he make a dwarf of you, Jenny?—­for it’s the truth he has done that; he has made a little dwarf out of the finest girl in the land by robbing her of her heels.”  Jenny was on the point of interrupting with some indignation, but Wogan would not listen to her.  “A dwarf,” he continued, “it was your own word, Jenny.  I could say nothing to comfort you when you spoke it, for it was so true and suitable an epithet.  A little dwarf he has made of you, all body and no legs like a bear, a dwarf-bear, of course; and why, if it is not that he envies you your figure and is jealous of it in a mean and discreditable way?  Sure, he wants to have all the looks and to appear quite incomparable to the eyes of his beautiful German.  So he makes a dwarf of you, a little bear dwarf—­”

Jenny, however, had heard this phrase often enough by now.  She interrupted Wogan hotly, and it seemed her anger was now as much directed against him as it had been before against O’Toole.

“He is not envious,” said she.  “A fine friend he has in you, I am thinking.  He has no need to be envious.  Captain O’Toole could carry me to the house in his arms if he wished, which is more than you could do if you tried till midday to-morrow,” and she turned her shoulder to Wogan, who, in no way abashed by her contempt, cried triumphantly,—­

“But he didn’t wish.  He let you drag through the mud and snow without so much as a patten to keep you off the ground.  Why?  Tell me that, Jenny!  Why didn’t he wish?”

Jenny was silent.

“You see, if he is not envious, he is at all events a coward,” argued Wogan, “else he would have run his own risks and come in your stead.”

“But that would not have served,” cried Jenny.  It was her turn now to speak triumphantly.  “How could O’Toole have run away with his heiress and at the same time remained behind in her bed to escape suspicion, as I am to do?”

“I had forgotten that, to be sure,” said Wogan, meekly.

Jenny laughed derisively.

“O’Toole is the man with the head on his shoulders,” said she.

“And a pitiful, calculating head it is,” exclaimed Wogan.  “Think of the inconvenience of your position when you are discovered to-morrow.  Think of the angry uncle!  O’Toole has thought of him and so keeps out of his way.  Here’s a nice world, where hulking, shapeless giants like O’Toole hide themselves from angry uncles behind a dwarf-girl’s petticoats.  Bah!  We will go back and kick O’Toole.”

Wogan rose to his feet.  Jenny did not move; she sat and laughed scornfully.

“You kick O’Toole!  You might once, if he happened to be asleep.  But he would take you up by the scruff of the neck and the legs and beat your face against your knees until you were dead.  Besides, what do I care for an angry uncle!  I am well paid to put up with his insults.”

“Well paid!” said Wogan, with a sneer.  “A hundred guineas and a damask gown!  Three hundred guineas and a gown all lace and gold tags would not be enough.  Besides, I’ll wager he has not paid you a farthing.  He’ll cheat you, Jenny.  He’s a rare bite is O’Toole.  Between you and me, Jenny, he is a beggarly fellow!”