inquiry with those wondering, speaking
eyes.

And Owen Fitzgerald was there;--as a matter of course, the reader
will say. By no means so. Previous to that ball Owen's sins had been
commented upon at Castle Richmond, and Sir Thomas had expostulated
with him. These expostulations had not been received quite so
graciously as those of the handsome countess, and there had been
anger at Castle Richmond.

Now there was living in the house of Castle Richmond one Miss Letty
Fitzgerald, a maiden sister of the baronet's, older than her brother
by full ten years. In her character there was more of energy, and
also much more of harsh judgment, and of consequent ill-nature, than
in that of her brother. When the letters of invitation were being
sent out by the two girls, she had given a decided opinion that the
reprobate should not be asked. But the reprobate's cousins, with that
partiality for a rake which is so common to young ladies, would not
abide by their aunt's command, and referred the matter both to mamma
and papa. Mamma thought it very hard that their own cousin should be
refused admittance to their house, and very dreadful that his sins
should be considered to be of so deep a dye as to require so severe a
sentence; and then papa, much balancing the matter, gave final orders
that the prodigal cousin should be admitted.

He was admitted, and dangerously he used the privilege. The countess,
who was there, stood up to dance twice, and twice only. She opened
the ball with young Herbert Fitzgerald the heir; and in about an hour
afterwards she danced again with Owen. He did not ask her twice; but
he asked her daughter three or four times, and three or four times he
asked her successfully.

"Clara," whispered the mother to her child, after the last of these
occasions, giving some little pull or twist to her girl's frock as
she did so, "you had better not dance with Owen Fitzgerald again
to-night. People will remark about it."

"Will they?" said Clara, and immediately sat down, checked in her
young happiness.

Not many minutes afterwards, Owen came up to her again. "May we have
another waltz together, I wonder?" he said.

"Not to-night, I think. I am rather tired already." And so she did
not waltz again all the evening, for fear she should offend him.

But the countess, though she had thus interdicted her daughter's
dancing with the master of Hap House, had not done so through any
absolute fear. To her, her girl was still