Reilly took it in his, and by some voluntary impulse he could not avoid giving it a certain degree of pressure.

The fact is, it was such a hand--so white--so small--so soft--so warm--so provocative of a squeeze--that he felt his own pressing it, he knew not how nor wherefore, at least he thought so at the time; that is to say, if he were capable of thinking distinctly of any thing.

But heaven and earth! Was it true! No delusion?
No dream?
The pressure returned! the slightest, the most gentle, the most delicate pressure--the barely perceptible pressure! Yes! it was beyond all doubt; for although the act itself was light as delicacy and modesty could make it, yet the spirit--the lightening spirit--which it shot into his bounding and enraptured heart could not be for a moment mistaken.
As she was running up the stairs she returned, however, and again approaching her father, said--whilst Reilly could observe that her cheek was flushed with a feeling that seemed to resemble ecstasy--"Papa," said she, "what a stupid girl I am! I scarcely know what I am saying or doing." "By the great Boyne," replied her father, "I'll describe him to you every night in the week.

I knew the curve--the line of beauty--would get into your head; but what is it, darling ?" "Will you and Mr.Reilly have tea in the drawing-room, or shall I send it down to you ?" "I am too comfortable in my easy chair, dear Helen: no, send it down." "After the shock you have received, papa, perhaps you might wish to have it from the hand of your own Cooleen Bawn ?" As the old man turned his eyes upon her they literally danced with delight.

"Ah, Willy!" said he, "is it any wonder I should love her ?" "I have often heard," replied Reilly, "that it is impossible to know her, and not to love her.