"It is; so are all these," said Brandon, with the same voice of
preternatural and strained composure. "They have come back to me after
an absence of nearly twenty-five years; they are the letters she wrote to
me in the days of our courtship" (here Brandon laughed scornfully),--"she
carried them away with her, you know when; and (a pretty clod of
consistency is woman!) she kept them, it seems, to her dying day."

The subject in discussion, whatever it might be, appeared a sore one to
Mauleverer; he turned uneasily on his chair, and said at length,--

"Well, poor creature! these are painful remembrances, since it turned out
so unhappily; but it was not our fault, dear Brandon. We were men of the
world; we knew the value of--of women, and treated them accordingly!"

"Right! right! right!" cried Brandon, vehemently, laughing in a wild and
loud disdain, the intense force of which it would be in vain to attempt
expressing. "Right! and, faith, my lord, I repine not, nor repent."

"So, so, that's well!" said Mauleverer, still not at his ease, and
hastening to change the conversation. "But, my dear Brandon, I have
strange news for you! You remember that fellow Clifford, who had the
insolence to address himself to your adorable niece? I told you I
suspected that long friend of his of having made my acquaintance somewhat
unpleasantly, and I therefore doubted of Clifford himself. Well, my dear
friend, this Clifford is--whom do you think?--no other than Mr. Lovett
of Newgate celebrity!"

"You do not say so!" rejoined Brandon, apathetically, as he slowly
gathered his papers together and deposited them in a drawer.