"Clara, my dear, I think you had better leave the room," said the countess; "no doubt you have assured Mr. Fitzgerald that you are engaged to his cousin Herbert." "Yes, mamma." "Then he can have no further claim on your attendance, and his vehemence will terrify you." "Vehement! how can I help being vehement when, like a ruined gambler, I am throwing my last chance for such a stake?" And then he intercepted Clara as she stepped towards the drawing-room door. She stopped in her course, and stood still, looking down upon the ground. "Mr. Fitzgerald," said the countess, "I will thank you to let Lady Clara leave the room. She has given you the answer for which you have asked, and it would not be right in me to permit her to be subjected to further embarrassment." "I will only ask her to listen to one word. Clara--" "Mr. Fitzgerald, you have no right to address my daughter with that freedom," said the countess; but Owen hardly seemed to hear her. "I here, in your hearing, protest against your marriage with Herbert Fitzgerald. I claim your love as my own. I bid you think of the promise which you gave me; and I tell you that as I loved you then with all my heart, so do I love you at this moment; so shall I love you always. Now I will not hinder you any longer." And then he opened the door for her, and she passed on, bowing to him, and muttering some word of farewell that was inaudible. He stood for a moment with the door in his hand, meditating whether he might not say good morning to the countess without returning into the room; but as he so stood she called him. "Mr. Fitzgerald," she said; and so he therefore came back, and once more closed the door. And then he saw that the countenance of Lady Desmond was much changed. Hitherto she had been every inch the countess, stern and cold and haughty; but now she looked at him as she used to look in those old winter evenings when they were accustomed to talk together over the evening fire in close friendliness, while she, Lady Desmond, would speak to him in the intimacy of her heart of her children, Patrick and Clara. "Mr. Fitzgerald," she said, and the tone of her voice also was changed. "You are hardly fair to us; are you?" "Not fair, Lady Desmond?" "No, not fair. Sit down now, and listen to me for a moment. If you had a child, a penniless girl like Clara, would you be glad to see her married to such a one as you are yourself?" "In what way do you mean? Speak out, Lady Desmond." "No; I will not speak out, for I would not hurt you. I myself am too fond of you--as an old friend, to wish to do so. That you may marry and live happily, live near us here, so that we may know you, I most heartily desire. But you cannot marry that child." "And why not, if she loves me?"