"But, Clara—" and Lady Desmond put on her sweetest, smoothest smile as she spoke to her daughter.
"Yes, mamma."
"How long have you taken to call young Mr. Fitzgerald by his Christian name?"
"Oh, I never do, mamma," said Clara, with a blush all over her face; "not to himself, I mean. You see, Mary and Emmeline are always talking about him."
"And therefore you mean always to talk about him also."
"No, mamma. But one can't help talking about him; he is doing so much for these poor people. I don't think he ever thinks about anything else from morning to night. Emmeline says he always goes to it again after dinner. Don't you think he is very good about it, mamma?"
"Yes, my dear; very good indeed; almost good enough to be called Herbert."
"But I don't call him so; you know I don't," protested Clara, very energetically.
"He is very good," continued the countess; "very good indeed. I don't know what on earth we should do without him. If he were my own son, he could hardly be more attentive to me."
"Then I may go with the girls to that place? I always forget the name."