“Egor! Who made it his roof?” demanded Jerry. “Shure, be the papers The O’Mahony wrote out wid his own hand for us—”
“Don’t be interruptin’, Jerry!” said Kate, again with a restraining hand on his arm. “I say this, O’Daly: The time I stop under this roof will be just that while that it takes me to put on me hat. Not an instant longer will I stay.”
She walked proudly erect to the chest in the corner, took up her hat and put it on her head.
“Come now, Jerry,” she said, “I’ll walk wid you to me cousins, the Ladies of the Hostage’s Tears. ’T will be grand news to thim that the O’Dalys have come into their own ag’in!”
Cormac O’Daly instinctively moved toward the door to bar her egress. Then a glance at Jerry’s heavy fists and angered face bred intuition of a different kind, and he stepped back again.
“Mind, once for all! I’ll not have ye here ag’in—neither one or other of ye!” he shouted.
Kate disdained response by even so much as a look. She moved over to the arm-chair, and, stooping for an instant, lightly brushed with her lips the flattened crimps which adorned the maternal forehead. Then, with head high in air and a tread of exaggerated stateliness, she led the way for Jerry out of the room and the house.
Mrs. Fergus heard the front door close with a resounding clang, and the noise definitely awakened her. She put up a correcting hand, and passed it over her front hair. Then she yawned meditatively at the fire, and, lifting the steaming kettle from the crane, filled one of the glasses on the tray with hot water. Then she permitted herself a drowsy halfsmile at the disordered appearance presented by her infuriated spouse.
“Well, thin, ’tis not in Mother Agnes O’Mahony’s shoes I’m wishin’ myself!” she said, upon reflection. “It’s right ye are to build thick new walls to the convint. They’ll be needed, wid that girl inside!”