"You cannot love her as I love her. I will talk to you on this matter openly, as I have never yet talked to any one. Since first I saw Clara Desmond, the only wish of my life has been that I might have her for my wife. I have longed for her as a child longs—if you know what I mean by that. When I saw that she was old enough to understand what love meant, I told her what was in my heart, and she accepted my love. She swore to me that she would be mine, let mother or brother say what they would. As sure as you are standing there a living man she loved me with all truth. And that I loved her—! Herbert, I have never loved aught but her; nothing else!—neither man nor woman, nor wealth nor title. All I ask is that I may have that which was my own."
"But, Owen—" and Herbert touched his cousin's arm.
"Well; why do you not speak? I have spoken plainly enough."
"It is not easy to speak plainly on all subjects. I would not, if I could avoid it, say a word that would hurt your feelings."
"Never mind my feelings. Speak out, and let us have the truth, in God's name. My feelings have never been much considered yet—either in this matter or in any other."
"It seems to me," said Herbert, "that the giving of Lady Clara's hand cannot depend on your will, or on mine."
"You mean her mother."
"No, by no means. Her mother now would be the last to favour me. I mean herself. If she loves me, as I hope and believe—nay, am sure—"
"She did love me!" shouted Owen.
"But even if so—. I do not now say anything of that; but even if so, surely you would not have her marry you if she does not love you still? You would not wish her to be your wife if her heart belongs to me?"