them walking in the garden where the peaches were, and I
sometimes had a nearer observation of them in the study or the
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parlour. She appeared to me to take great care of the Doctor, and
to like him very much, though I never thought her vitally
interested in the Dictionary: some cumbrous fragments of which
work the Doctor always carried in his pockets, and in the lining of
his hat, and generally seemed to be expounding to her as they
walked about.
I saw a good deal of Mrs. Strong, both because she had taken a
liking for me on the morning of my introduction to the Doctor, and
was always afterwards kind to me, and interested in me; and
because she was very fond of Agnes, and was often backwards and
forwards at our house. There was a curious constraint between
her and Mr. Wickfield, I thought (of whom she seemed to be
afraid), that never wore off. When she came there of an evening,
she always shrunk from accepting his escort home, and ran away
with me instead. And sometimes, as we were running gaily across
the Cathedral yard together, expecting to meet nobody, we would
meet Mr. Jack Maldon, who was always surprised to see us.
Mrs. Strong’s mama was a lady I took great delight in. Her
name was Mrs. Markleham; but our boys used to call her the Old
Soldier, on account of her generalship, and the skill with which
she marshalled great forces of relations against the Doctor. She
was a little, sharp-eyed woman, who used to wear, when she was
dressed, one unchangeable cap, ornamented with some artificial
flowers, and two artificial butterflies supposed to be hovering
above the flowers. There was a superstition among us that this cap
had come from France, and could only originate in the
workmanship of that ingenious nation: but all I certainly know
about it, is, that it always made its appearance of an evening,
wheresoever Mrs. Markleham made her appearance; that it was
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carried about to friendly meetings in a Hindoo basket; that the
butterflies had the gift of trembling constantly; and that they
improved the shining hours at Doctor Strong’s expense, like busy
bees.
I observed the Old Soldier—not to adopt the name
disrespectfully—to pretty good advantage, on a night which is
made memorable to me by something else I shall relate. It was the
night of a little party at the Doctor’s, which was given on the
occasion of Mr. Jack Maldon’s departure for India, whither he was
going as a cadet, or something of that kind: Mr. Wickfield having
at length arranged the business. It happened to be the Doctor’s
birthday, too. We had had a holiday, had made presents to him in
the morning, had made a speech to him through the head-boy, and
had cheered him until we were hoarse, and until he had shed
tears. And now, in the evening, Mr. Wickfield, Agnes, and I, went
to have tea with him in his private capacity.
Mr. Jack Maldon was there, before us. Mrs. Strong, dressed in
white, with cherry-coloured ribbons, was playing the piano, when
we went in; and he was leaning over her to turn the leaves. The
clear red and white of her complexion was not so blooming and
flower-like as usual, I thought, when she turned round; but she
looked very pretty, Wonderfully pretty.
‘I have forgotten, Doctor,’ said Mrs. Strong’s mama, when we
were seated, ‘to pay you the compliments of the day—though they
are, as you may suppose, very far from being mere compliments in
my case. Allow me to wish you many happy retu"};
