looking as though she were thunderstruck at the existence of such
hesitation. "You do not wish me to suppose that you intend to
persevere in such insanity? Clara, I must have from you a distinct
promise,--or--"

What might be the dreadful alternative the countess did not at that
minute say. She perhaps thought that her countenance might be more
effective than her speech, and in thinking so she was probably
right.

It must be remembered that Clara Desmond was as yet only seventeen,
and that she was young even for that age. It must be remembered
also, that she knew nothing of the world's ways, of her own
privileges as a creature with a soul and heart of her own, or of
what might be the true extent of her mother's rights over her. She
had not in her enough of matured thought to teach her to say that
she would make no promise that should bind her for ever; but that
for the present, in her present state, she would obey her mother's
orders. And thus the promise was exacted and given.

"If I find you deceiving me, Clara," said the countess, "I will
never forgive you."

Hitherto, Lady Desmond may probably have played her part
well;--well, considering her object. But she played it very badly in
showing that she thought it possible that her daughter should play
her false. It was now Clara's turn to be proud and indignant.

"Mamma!" she said, holding her head high, and looking at her mother
boldly through her tears, "I have never deceived you yet."