ain unbroken, and I will at once leave you till you yourself
shall name the time when my suit may be renewed."

"You know that I cannot do that."

"And why not? I know that you ought to do it."

"No, Mr. Fitzgerald, I ought not. I am now engaged to your cousin,
with the consent of mamma and of his friends. I can say nothing to
you now which I cannot repeat to him; nor can I say anything which
shall oppose his wishes."

"He is then so much more to you now than I am?"

"He is everything to me now."

"That is all the reply I am to get then! You acknowledge your
falseness, and throw me off without vouchsafing me any answer beyond
this."

"What would you have me say? I did do that which was wrong and
foolish, when--when we were walking there on the avenue. I did give a
promise which I cannot now keep. It was all so hurried that I hardly
remember what I said. But of this I am sure, that if I have caused
you unhappiness, I am very sorry to have done so. I cannot alter it
all now; I cannot unsay what I said then; nor can I offer you that
which I have now absolutely given to another."

And then, as she finished speaking, she did pluck up courage to look
him in the face. She was now standing as well as he; but she was so
standing that the table, which was placed near the sofa, was still
between him and her. As she finished speaking the door opened, and
the Countess of Desmond walked slowly into the room.

Owen Fitzgerald, when he saw her, bowed low before her, and then
frankly offered her his hand. There was something in his manner to
ladies devoid of all bashfulness, and yet never too bold. He seemed
to be aware that in speaking to any lady, be she who she might, he
was only exercising his undoubted privilege as a man. He never hummed
and hawed and shook in his shoes as though the majesty of womanhood
were too great for his encounter. There are such men, and many of
them, who carry this dread to the last day of their long lives. I
have often wondered what women think of men who regard women as too
awful for the free exercise of open speech.

"Mr. Fitzgerald," she said, accepting the hand which he offered to
her, but resuming her own very quickly, and then standing before him
in all the dignity which she was able to assume, "I quite concurred
with my daughter that it was right that she should see you, as you
insisted on such an interview; but you must excuse me if I interrupt
it. I must protect her from the embarrass