Go on, sir." "Your parents are of a most unexampled cruelty.

They will not smile upon the fascinating O'Toole, but have locked you up on bread and water until you shall agree to marry a wealthy but decrepit gentleman of eighty-three." "I will not," cried Clementina; "I will starve myself to death first.

I will marry my six feet four or no other man in Christendom." "Clementina!" cried her mother, deprecatingly.
"But at this moment," continued Wogan, "there very properly appears the fairy godmother in the person of a romantical maiden aunt." "Oh!" said Clementina, "I have a romantical maiden aunt." "Yes," said Wogan, and turning with a bow to the Princess-mother; "your Highness." "I ?" she exclaimed, starting up in her chair.
"Your Highness has written an encouraging letter to Captain O'Toole," resumed Wogan.

The Princess-mother gasped, "A letter to Captain O'Toole," and she flung up her hands and fell back in her chair.
"On the receipt of the letter Captain O'Toole gathers his friends, borrows a horse here, a carriage there, and a hundred guineas from Heaven knows whom, comes to the rescue like a knight-errant, and retells the old story of how love laughs at locksmiths." As Wogan ended, the mother rose from her chair.

It may have been that she revolted at the part she was to play; it may have been because a fiercer gust shook the curtain and bellied it inwards.