“I have already given orders for that,” replied his wife.  He then hurried out and left them, evidently much gratified by Woodward’s visit.  O’Connor and the latter having scanned each other by a glance or two, bowed with that extreme air of politeness which is only another name for a want of cordiality.  O’Connor was rather a plain-looking young fellow, as to his person and general appearance; but his Milesian face was handsome, and his eye clear and candid, with a dash of determination and fire in it.  Very different, indeed, was it from the eye that was scrutinizing him at that moment, with such keenness and penetration.  There are such things as antipathies; otherwise why should those two individuals entertain, almost in a moment’s time, such a secret and unaccountable disrelish towards each other?  Woodward did not love Alice, so that the feeling could not proceed from jealousy; and we will so far throw aside mystery as to say here, that neither did O’Connor; and, we may add still further, that poor, innocent, unassuming Alice was attached to neither of them.

“I hope your brother is well, sir,” said O’Connor, anxious to break the ice, and try the stuff Woodward was made of.  “I have not seen him for some time.”

“O! then, you are acquaintances?” said Woodward.

“We are more, sir,” replied O’Connor, “we are friends.”

“I hope you are all well,” interrupted kind-hearted Mrs. Goodwin.

“Quite well, my dear madam,” he replied.  Then turning to O’Connor:  “To be a friend to my brother, sir,” he said, “next to finding you a friend and favorite in this family, is the warmest recommendation to me.  My long absence from home prevented me from knowing his value until now; but now that!  I do know him, I say it, perhaps, with too much of the partiality of a brother, I think that any man may feel proud of his friendship; and I say so with the less hesitation, because I am sure he would select no man for his friend who was not worthy of it;” and he bowed courteously as he spoke.

“Faith, sir,” replied O’Connor, “you have hit it; I for one am proud of it; but, upon my conscience, he wouldn’t be his father’s son if he wasn’t what he is.”

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.”