d had welcomed her
like a mother, with more caressing soft tenderness than her own
mother usually vouchsafed to her; and even Sir Thomas had gone out of
his usual way to be kind to her.

That her mother would approve of such a marriage she could not doubt.
Lady Desmond in these latter days had not said much to her about
Owen; but she had said very much of the horrors of poverty. And she
had been too subtle to praise the virtues of Herbert with open plain
words; but she had praised the comforts of a handsome income and
well-established family mansion. Clara at these times had understood
more than had been intended, and had, therefore, put herself on her
guard against her mother's worldly wisdom; but, nevertheless, the
dropping of the water had in some little measure hollowed the stone
beneath.

And thus, thinking of these things, she stood at the window for some
half-hour after the form of her accepted lover had become invisible
in the gathering gloom of the evening.

And then her mother entered the room, and candles were brought. Lady
Desmond was all smiles and benignity, as she had been for this last
week past, while Herbert Fitzgerald had been coming and going almost
daily at Desmond Court. But Clara understood this benignity, and
disliked it.

It was, however, now necessary that everything should be told.
Herbert had declared that he should at once inform his father and
mother, and obtain their permission for his marriage. He spoke of
it as a matter on which there was no occasion for any doubt or
misgiving. He was an only son, he said, and trusted and loved in
everything. His father never opposed him on any subject whatever; and
would, he was sure, consent to any match he might propose. "But as
to you," he added, with a lover's flattering fervour, "they are all
so fond of you, they all think so much of you, that my only fear is
that I shall be jealous. They'll all make love to you, Aunt Letty
included."

It was therefore essential that she should at once tell her mother,
and ask her mother's leave. She had once before confessed a tale of
love, and had done so with palpitation of the heart, with trembling
of the limbs, and floods of tears. Then her tale had been received
with harsh sternness. Now she could tell her story without any
trembling, with no tears; but it was almost indifferent to her
whether her mother was harsh or tender.

"What! has Mr. Fitzgerald gone?" said the countess, on entering the
room.