Mrs Woodford, of nearly the same age as her Cousin Dick, had been his confidante in their boy and girl days, had sympathised warmly with his disappointment, without very precisely understanding how it had come about, and was now assuring her husband that the attachment had been a far more serious affair than very youthful fancies commonly are. It was true the gentleman had so far consoled himself as to marry another lady; though it was reported he had wedded a shrew, who had not made him supremely happy. But he lost his wife some time before leaving Australia; and now, after a sojourn of nearly twenty years in the colonies, had returned to England with something more than competence.
'But what became of Miss Clifton?' asked Mr Woodford.
'That I do not know,' returned the lady. 'Clifton was only her professional name; her real one I quite forget; therefore if from any circumstances she passed into private life, it would not be easy to track her. Dick only called her Alice to me.'
'Probably she also married,' said Mr Woodford.
'Possibly,' replied his wife; 'though women are more constant than men; and though she ceased to answer Dick's letters, and really brought him to a state of misery which drove him out of England, I never thought the fault was quite her own.'
While Mrs Woodford was yet speaking, there was a knock at the door, and Mr Broughton was announced.
'Why did you not come to dinner?' cried Mr Woodford, rising to greet the visitor. 'But we can have the lamb brought back,' he added.
'Thanks, thanks,' said Mr Broughton; 'but I dined at the hotel. I am sure I ought to apologise for calling at such a time, and for having brought Dandy with me.'
Dandy was a terrier, and his master's almost inseparable companion.