Mr Witt's Widow by Antonio Hope

"How could I ever have forgotten?" said George, aloud, as he walked home. "I remember her now as if it was yesterday."

Memory, like much else that appertains to man, is a queer thing, and the name of Peckton had supplied the one link missing in his recollection. How, indeed, had he ever forgotten it? Can a man forget his first brief any more than his first love? -- so like are they in their infinite promise, so like in their very finite results!