"
Alice was sewing some embroidery, and seemed to take no notice, if one
could judge by her downcast locks, of what they said. At length she
said, with a smile:
"As you, Ferdora, have inquired for your favorite, I don't see why I
should not inquire after mine; how is your sister, Mr. Woodward?"
"Indeed, she's the picture of health, Miss Goodwin; but I will not"--he
added, with a smile to balance her own--"I will not be answerable for
the health of her heart."
Alice gave a low laugh, that had the slightest tincture of malice in it,
and glanced at O'Connor, who began to tap his boot with his riding whip.
"She is a good girl as ever lived," said Mrs. Goodwin, "and I hope will
never have a heartache that may harm her."
"Heaven knows, madam," replied Woodward, "it is time only that will tell
that. Love is a strange and sometimes rather a painful malady."
"Of course you speak from your own experience, Mr. Woodward," replied
Alice.
"Then you have had the complaint, sir," said O'Connor, laughing. "I
wonder is it like small-pox or measles?"
"How is that, sir?" said Woodward, smiling.
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