"Yes, mamma," said Clara, remembering that her lover had bade her
tell her mother everything.

"Well, my love?"

Clara's story was very simple, and did not, in fact, want any
telling. It was merely the old well-worn tale, so common through all
the world. "He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black eye!"
and she,--she was ready to go "to the mountain to hear a love-tale!"
One may say that an occurrence so very common could not want much
telling.

"Mamma; he says--"

"Well, my dear?"

"He says--. Oh, mamma! I could not help it."

"No, Clara; you certainly could not help what he might say to you.
You could not refuse to listen to him. A lady in such case, when she
is on terms of intimacy with a gentleman, as you were with Mr.
Fitzgerald, is bound to listen to him, and to give him an answer.
You could not help what he might say, Clara. The question now is,
what answer did you give to what he said?"

Clara, who was still kneeling, looked up piteously into her mother's
face, sighed bitterly, but said nothing.

"He told you that he loved you, I suppose?"