vour to beg; nothing for which to be
grateful. With a slight motion, unconsciously, unwillingly, but not
the less positively, she repulsed her mother's caress as she answered
her question.

"I have accepted him, mamma; that is, of course, if you do not
object."

"My own, own child!" said the countess, seizing her daughter in her
arms, and pressing her to her bosom. And in truth Clara was, now
probably for the first time, her own heart's daughter. Her son,
though he was but a poor earl, was Earl of Desmond. He too, though in
truth but a poor earl, was not absolutely destitute,--would in truth
be blessed with a fair future. But Lady Clara had hitherto been felt
only as a weight. She had been born poor as poverty itself, and
hitherto had shown so little disposition to find for herself a remedy
for this crushing evil! But now--now matters were indeed changed. She
had obtained for herself the best match in the whole country round,
and, in doing so, had sacrificed her heart's young love. Was she not
entitled to all a mother's tenderness? Who knew, who could know the
miseries of poverty so well as the Countess of Desmond? Who then
could feel so much gratitude to a child for prudently escaping from
them? Lady Desmond did feel grateful to her daughter.

"My own, own child; my happy girl," she repeated. "He is a man to
whom any mother in all the land would be proud to see her daughter
married. Never, never did I see a young man so perfectly worthy of a
girl's love. He is so thoroughly well educated, so thoroughly well
conducted, so good-looking, so warm-hearted, so advantageously
situated in all his circumstances. Of course he will go into
Parliament, and then any course is open to him. The property is, I
believe, wholly unembarrassed, and there are no younger brothers.
You may say that the place is his own already, for old Sir Thomas
is almost nobody. I do wish you joy, my own dearest, dearest Clara!"
After which burst of maternal eloquence, the countess pressed her
lips to those of her child, and gave her a mother's warmest kiss.

Clara was conscious that she was thoroughly dissatisfied with her
mother, but she could not exactly say why it was so. She did return
her mother's kiss, but she did it coldly, and with lips that were not
eager.

"I'm glad you think that I have done right, mamma."

"Right, my love! Of course I think that you have done right: only
I give you no credit, dearest; none in the least; for how could y