Maria, naturally, had nominated her sister, Lily, to be her bridesmaid. But she had also asked Harriet to act as a second bridesmaid. They took their places in the front pew as Maria detached from her uncle to take Swallow’s arm, stepping forward to kneel in front of the altar. She glanced at Swallow and smiled.

He thought the ceremony was the most moving and most joyful experience of his life. Lawrence celebrated the nuptial Mass with the Friar Superior and the acolyte echoing the Latin prayers. After the consecration of the bread and wine, Lawrence distributed the white Communion hosts to the congregation, save for Lafeyre, Pat Mossop and his wife, who were Protestant. The friar-organist played Bach’s ‘Jesu, joy of Man’s Desiring’ and Pachelbel’s ‘Canon in D’.

Then they pledged themselves to each other. After Catherine Greenberg’s dramatic exit from Lily’s painting class, Swallow had prudently decided against visiting her family business in Capel Street to procure a ring. Instead he had gone to Weir’s, the recently opened jeweller’s off Grafton Street. He and Maria had agreed that the ring from her first marriage would be transferred to her right hand before the ceremony. Now he placed a new gold band, inset with three small diamonds, on her left hand. He drew the equivalent of two months’ salary from his savings to pay for it.

Lawrence’s homily was brief. He recalled the marriage at Cana when Jesus changed the water into wine at the request of his Blessed Mother. Jesus approved of marriage, he told them. Nothing could be clearer. Otherwise he would not have performed the miracle. He wanted the couple’s day to be perfect and not ruined by a shortage of wine.

‘Jesus is always to hand for married couples,’ he told Swallow and Maria. ‘As he will always be to hand for you in your lives together. All you have to do is reach out to him.’

When the religious ceremonies were concluded, they withdrew to the sacristy to sign the register, witnessed by Lafeyre and Lily. Lawrence carefully countersigned the registry sheet, adding the letters ‘OSF’ for Order of Saint Francis after his name in ostentatious capitals.

‘I’ve little time for the work of government,’ he told them by way of explanation. ‘When I sign the official register I’m an agent of the Crown, whether I like it or not. So that’s my way of letting them know that I’m still not one of them. I belong to my order and to God, not to Dublin Castle.’

The day outside was darkening when they emerged onto Merchants’ Quay. There were handshakes, congratulations and kisses. Swallow’s mother was not given to shows of emotion. Her relations with her son had been distant, cold almost, over the years since the death of her husband. But she threw her arms first around her son and then around Maria.