But I can't say I thought much about it." And then the subject was dropped during that morning's breakfast.

They all went to the hunt, and in the course of the day Owen contrived to learn that the report was well founded.
That evening, as the countess and her daughter were sitting together over the fire, the gray-headed old butler brought in a letter upon an old silver salver, saying, "For Lady Clara, if you please, my lady." The countess not unnaturally thought that the despatch had come from Castle Richmond, and smiled graciously as Clara put out her hand for the missive.

Lady Desmond again let her eyes drop upon the book which she was reading, as though to show that she was by far too confiding a mamma to interfere in any correspondence between her daughter and her daughter's lover.

At the moment Lady Clara had been doing nothing.

Her work was, indeed, on her lap, and her workbox was at her elbow; but her thoughts had been far away; far away as regards idea, though not so as to absolute locality; for in her mind she was walking beneath those elm-trees, and a man was near her, with a horse following at his heels.
"The messenger is to wait for an answer, my lady," said the old butler, with a second nod, which on this occasion was addressed to Clara; and then the man withdrew.
Lady Clara blushed ruby red up to the roots of her hair when her eyes fell on the address of the letter, for she knew it to be in the handwriting of Owen Fitzgerald.