“Take the thing!  A good riddance to it; it’s dripping wet, and weighs a ton.”

“Dripping wet!” moaned the mother.

“I shall not wear it long,” said Clementina, advancing from the embrasure of the window.  Jenny turned and looked her over critically from head to foot.  Then she turned away without a word and let the cloak fall to the ground.  It fell about her feet; she kicked it viciously away, and at the same time she kicked off one of those shoes of which she so much complained.  Jenny was never the woman to mince her language, and to-night she was in her surliest mood.  So she swore simply and heartily, to the mother’s utter astonishment and indignation.

“Damn!” she said, hobbling across the room to the corner, whither her shoe had fallen.  “There, there, old lady; don’t hold your hands to your ears as though a clean oath would poison them!”

The Princess-mother fell back in her chair.

“Does she speak to me?” she asked helplessly.

“Yes,” said Wogan; and turning to Jenny, “This is the kind-hearted aunt.”

Jenny turned to Clementina, who was picking the cloak from the floor.

“And you are the beautiful heiress,” she said sourly.  “Well, if you are going to put that wet cloak on your shoulders, I wish you joy of the first kiss O’Toole gives you when you jump into his arms.”

The Princess-mother screamed; Wogan hastened to interfere.

“Jenny, there’s the bedroom; to bed with you!” and he took out his watch.  At once he uttered an exclamation of affright.  Wogan had miscalculated the time which he would require.  It had taken longer than he had anticipated to reach the villa against the storm; his conflict with Jenny in the portico had consumed valuable minutes; he had been at some pains to over-persuade the Princess-mother; Jenny herself amongst the trees in the darkness had waited more than the quarter of an hour demanded of her; Wogan himself, absorbed each moment in that moment’s particular business,—­now bending all his wits to vanquish Jenny, now to vanquish the Princess-mother,—­even Wogan had neglected how the time sped.  He looked at his watch.  It was twenty-five minutes to ten, and at ten the magistrate would be knocking at the door.

“I am ready,” said Clementina, drawing the wet cloak about her shoulders and its hood over her head.  She barely shivered under its wet heaviness.

“There’s one more thing to be done before you go,” said Wogan; but before he could say what that one thing was, Jenny, who had now recovered her shoe, ran across the room and took the beautiful heiress by both hands.  Jenny was impulsive by nature.  The Princess-mother’s distress and Clementina’s fearlessness made her suddenly ashamed that she had spoken so sourly.

“There, there, old lady,” she said soothingly; “don’t you fret.  They are very good friends your niece is going with.”  Then she drew Clementina close to her.  “I don’t wonder they are all mad about you, for I can’t but say you are very handsome and richly worth the pains you have occasioned us.”  She kissed Clementina plump upon the cheek and whispered in her ear, “O’Toole won’t mind the wet cloak, my dear, when he sees you.”