"Well, yes, Sir Thomas. Sir Thomas is very well, and so also is Lady Fitzgerald; but I do not feel the same interest about them that I do about you. And they are such humdrum, quiet-going people. As for Herbert, I'm afraid he'll turn out a prig." "Well, Mr. Fitzgerald, if you give me the right I shall use it." And getting up from her chair, and coming to him where he stood, she looked kindly into his face. It was a bonny, handsome face for a woman to gaze on, and there was much kindness in hers as she smiled on him. Nay, there was almost more than kindness, he thought, as he caught her eye. It was like,--almost like the sweetness of motherly love. "And I shall scold you," she continued. "People say that for two or three nights running men have been playing cards at Hap House till morning." "Yes, I had some men there for a week. I could not take their candles away, and put them to bed; could I, Lady Desmond?" "And there were late suppers, and drinking of toasts, and headaches in the morning, and breakfast at three o'clock, and gentlemen with very pale faces when they appeared rather late at the meet--eh, Mr. Fitzgerald?" And she held up one finger at him, as she upbraided him with a smile. The smile was so sweet, so unlike her usual look; that, to tell the truth, was often too sad and careworn for her age. "Such things do happen, Lady Desmond." "Ah, yes; they do happen. And with such a one as you, heaven knows I do not begrudge the pleasure, if it were but now and then,--once again and then done with. But you are too bright and too good for such things to continue." And she took his hand and pressed it, as a mother or a mother's dearest friend might have done. "It would so grieve me to think that you should be even in danger of shipwreck. "You will not be angry with me for taking this liberty?" she continued. "Angry! how could any man be angry for such kindness?" "And you will think of what I say. I would not have you unsociable, or morose, or inhospitable; but--" "I understand, Lady Desmond; but when young men are together, one cannot always control them." "But you will try. Say that you will try because I have asked you." He promised that he would, and then went his way, proud in his heart at this solicitude. And how could he not be proud? was she not high in rank, proud in character, beautiful withal, and the mother of Clara Desmond? What sweeter friend could a man have; what counsellor more potent to avert those dangers which now hovered round his head?