“Poor dear Jack!” said Mrs. Markleham, shaking her head. “That trying climate!⁠—like living, they tell me, on a sand-heap, underneath a burning-glass! He looked strong, but he wasn’t. My dear Doctor, it was his spirit, not his constitution, that he ventured on so boldly. Annie, my dear, I am sure you must perfectly recollect that your cousin never was strong⁠—not what can be called robust , you know,” said Mrs. Markleham, with emphasis, and looking round upon us generally, “⁠—from the time when my daughter and himself were children together, and walking about, arm-in-arm, the livelong day.”

Annie, thus addressed, made no reply.

“Do I gather from what you say, ma’am, that Mr. Maldon is ill?” asked Mr. Wickfield.