“Sir, I submit; I am vanquished.  If you are as successful in love as you are in banter, I should not wish to enter the list against you.

“Faith, sir,” replied O’Connor, with a poor-humored laugh, “if your sword is as sharp as your wit, you’d be an ugly customer to meet in a quarrel.”

O’Connor, who had been there for some time, now rose to take his leave, at which Alice felt rather satisfied.  Indeed, she could not avoid observing that, whatever the cause of it might be, there seemed to exist some secret feeling of dislike between them, which occasioned her no inconsiderable apprehension.  O’Connor she knew was kind-hearted and generous, but, at the same time, as quick as gunpowder in taking and resenting an insult.  On the other hand, she certainly felt much regret at being subjected to the presence of Woodward, against whom she entertained, as the reader knows, a strong feeling that amounted absolutely to aversion.  She could not, however, think of treating him with anything bordering on disrespect, especially in her own house, and she, consequently, was about to say something merely calculated to pass the time.  In this, however, she was anticipated by Woodward, who, as he had his suspicions of O’Connor, resolved to sound her on the subject.

“That seems an agreeable young fellow,” said he; “somewhat free and easy in his deportment.”

“Take care, Mr. Woodward,” said her mother, “say nothing harsh against Ferdora, if you wish to keep on good terms with Alley.  He’s the white-headed boy with her.”

“I am not surprised at that, madam,” he replied, “possessed as he is of such a rare and fortunate quality.”

“Pray, what is that, Mr. Woodward?” asked Alice, timidly.

“Why, the faculty of making love with the power of ten men,” he replied.

“You must be a very serious man,” she replied.

“Serious, Miss Goodwin!  Why do you think so?”

“I hope you are not in the habit of receiving a jest as a matter of fact.”

“Not,” he replied, “if I could satisfy myself that there was no fact in the jest; but, indeed, in this world, Miss Goodwin, it is very difficult to distinguish jest from earnest.”

“I am a bad reasoner, Mr. Woodward,” she replied.

“But, perhaps, Miss Goodwin, Mr. O’Connor would say that you make up in feeling what you want in logic.”

“I hope, sir,” replied Alice, with some spirit—­for she felt hurt at his last observation—­“that I will never feel on any subject until I have reason as well as inclination to support me.”

“Ah,” said he, “I fear that if you once possess the inclination you will soon supply the reason.  But, by the way, talking of your friend and favorite, Mr. O’Connor, I must say I like him very much, and I am, not surprised that you do.”

“I do, indeed,” she replied; “I know of nobody I like better than honest, frank, and generous Ferdora.”

“Well, Miss Goodwin, I assure you he shall be a favorite of mine for your sake.”