"My own, own child; my happy girl," she repeated. "He is a man to whom any mother in all the land would be proud to see her daughter married. Never, never did I see a young man so perfectly worthy of a girl's love. He is so thoroughly well educated, so thoroughly well conducted, so good-looking, so warm-hearted, so advantageously situated in all his circumstances. Of course he will go into Parliament, and then any course is open to him. The property is, I believe, wholly unembarrassed, and there are no younger brothers. You may say that the place is his own already, for old Sir Thomas is almost nobody. I do wish you joy, my own dearest, dearest Clara!" After which burst of maternal eloquence, the countess pressed her lips to those of her child, and gave her a mother's warmest kiss.
Clara was conscious that she was thoroughly dissatisfied with her mother, but she could not exactly say why it was so. She did return her mother's kiss, but she did it coldly, and with lips that were not eager.
"I'm glad you think that I have done right, mamma."
"Right, my love! Of course I think that you have done right: only I give you no credit, dearest; none in the least; for how could you help loving one so lovable in every way as dear Herbert?"
"Credit! no, there is no credit," she said, not choosing to share her mother's pleasantry.
"But there is this credit. Had you not been one of the sweetest girls that ever was born, he would not have loved you."
"He has loved me because there was no one else here," said Clara.
"Nonsense! No one else here, indeed! Has he not the power if he pleases to go and choose whomever he will in all London. Had he been mercenary, and wanted money," said the countess, in a tone which showed how thoroughly she despised any such vice, "he might have had what he would. But then he could not have had my Clara. But he has looked for beauty and manners and high-bred tastes, and an affectionate heart; and, in my opinion, he could not have been more successful in his search." After which second burst of eloquence, she again kissed her daughter.
'Twas thus, at that moment, that she congratulated the wife of the future Sir Herbert Fitzgerald; and then she allowed Clara to go up to her own room, there to meditate quietly on what she had done, and on that which she was about to do. But late in the evening, Lady Desmond, whose mind was thoroughly full of the subject, again broke out into triumph.
"You must write to Patrick to-morrow, Clara. He must hear the good news from no one but yourself."