es, the repressed sobs, the mingled look of shame and fear;--if she
had not read the truth from these, she would have learned it from the
tone of Fitzgerald's voice, and the look of triumph which sat upon
his countenance.

And then she wondered that this should be so, seeing that she had
still regarded Clara as being in all things a child; and as she
thought further, she wondered at her own fatuity, in that she had
allowed herself to be so grossly deceived.

"Clara," said she, "what is all this?"

"Oh, mamma!"

"You had better come on to the house, my dear, and speak to me there.
In the mean time, collect your thoughts, and remember this, Clara,
that you have the honour of a great family to maintain."

Poor Clara! what had the great family done for her, or how had she
been taught to maintain its honour? She knew that she was an earl's
daughter, and that people called her Lady Clara; whereas other young
ladies were only called Miss So-and-So. But she had not been taught
to separate herself from the ordinary throng of young ladies by any
other distinction. Her great family had done nothing special for her,
nor placed before her for example any grandly noble deeds. At that
old house at Desmond Court company was scarce, money was scarce,
servants were scarce. She had been confided to the care of a very
ordinary governess; and if there was about her anything that was
great or good, it was intrinsically her own, and by no means due to
intrinsic advantages derived from her grand family. Why should she
not give what was so entirely her own to one whom she loved, to one
by whom it so pleased her to be loved?

And then they entered the house, and Clara followed her mother to the
countess's own small up-stairs sitting-room. The daughter did not
ordinarily share this room with her mother, and when she entered it,
she seldom did so with pleasurable emotion. At the present moment she
had hardly strength to close the door after her.

"And now, Clara, what is all this?" said the countess, sitting down
in her accustomed chair.

"All which, mamma?" Can any one blame her in that she so far
equivocated?

"Clara, you know very well what I mean. What has there been between
you and Mr. Fitzgerald?"

The guilt-stricken wretch sat silent for a while, sustaining the
scrutiny of her mother's gaze; and then falling from her chair on to
her knees, she hid her face in her mother's lap, exclaiming, "Oh,
mamma, mamma, do not look at me l