There was still a pause, a moment's pause, and then some sound did
fall from her lips. But yet it was so soft, so gentle, so slight,
that it could hardly be said to reach even a lover's ear.
Fitzgerald, however, made the most of it. Whether it were Yes, or
whether it were No, he took it as being favourable, and Lady Clara
Desmond gave him no sign to show that he was mistaken.

"My own, own, only loved one," he said. embracing her, as it were,
with his words, since the presence of her approaching mother forbade
him even to take her hand in his, "I am happy now, whatever may
occur; whatever others may say; for I know that you will be true to
me. And remember this--whatever others may say, I also will be true
to you. You will think of that, will you not, love?"

This time she did answer him, almost audibly. "Yes," she said. And
then she devoted herself to a vain endeavour to remove the traces of
her tears before her mother should be close to them.

Fitzgerald at once saw that such endeavour must be vain. At one time
he had thought of turning away, and pretending that they had not
seen the countess. But he knew that Clara would not be able to carry
out any such pretence; and he reflected also that it might be just
as well that Lady Desmond should know the whole at once. That she
would know it, and know it soon, he was quite sure. She could learn
it not only from Clara, but from himself. He could not now be there
at the house without showing that he both loved and knew that he was
beloved. And then why should Lady Desmond not know it? Why should he
think that she would set herself against the match? He had certainly
spoken to Clara of the difference in their rank; but, after all, it
was no uncommon thing for an earl's daughter to marry a commoner.