‘Of course you had,’ rejoined Vernon fondly, with the _old_ manner that seemed sometimes to sit so strangely on his youthful appearance; ‘heaps of them, I should say, if the young men of that day had any gumption about them. I often think, mother, what a dear, charming, genuine sort of girl you must have been.’ He pinched her cheek as he spoke, and Mrs Blythe felt happier at receiving his compliment, than she had ever done when the young men he alluded to had paid theirs. ‘Now don’t be foolish, my darling,’ she said, with an assumption of indifference, as she settled her head-dress. ‘But what I say is true. First love-affairs are seldom lasting.’ ‘I daresay not; I hope not; although I fancy I have reached the climax of my forgetfulness. Five years is a long time to fret after a woman, and, indeed, I have tried hard to banish her from my mind. It is only fair to dear little Alice that I should do so.’ ‘But what went wrong with it, my boy?’ ‘Everything, mother! I met her at a friend of uncle’s, and I loved her from the very first. But she did not love me, and there was an end of it. In fact, there was another fellow in the way.’ ‘Was she so very beautiful, Vernon?’ ‘No, I think not--at least, I never heard any one else say so. But to me she seemed to have the most perfect face I had ever seen. When I think of it now, it looks like the face of an angel. And everything she said and did seemed right. I agreed with all her opinions. We liked the same things--the same people--the same pursuits. Oh! what is the use of thinking of it?’ he continued impatiently; ‘I suppose it was my fate to meet her, and love her, and carry her remembrance in my heart for ever afterwards. I have spoken of her this once, mother, because you asked me. But it must never be again. I cannot bear it!’ ‘But why couldn’t she love you?’ said Mrs Blythe plaintively. ‘It was cruel of her not to undeceive you--such a lad as you were--from the very beginning.’ ‘That was not her fault, mother. You must not blame her. I don’t think she was aware of my love until I confessed it to her. And then it was too late.’ ‘How “too late”?’ ‘She was already engaged to be married to another man--a man of fashion and means, and five years my senior--and two months afterwards she became his wife, and there was an end to my mad dream for ever. And perhaps it was better so than that she should have remained single, and I gone on hoping against hope.’ ‘What is her name, Vernon?’ ‘Mother dear, I cannot tell you her name. Don’t ask me to do it. It is sacred to me, as I thought my secret was, and I could not bear to think it had passed my lips. Remember her only as the one great love of your son’s life: it is the highest title you can give her.’ ‘And do you know her husband?’ asked Mrs Blythe.