If Mr.Jack Maldon comes home on account of ill health, he must not be allowed to go back, and we must endeavour to make some more suitable and fortunate provision for him in this country.' Mrs.Markleham was so overcome by this generous speech--which, I need not say, she had not at all expected or led up to--that she could only tell the Doctor it was like himself, and go several times through that operation of kissing the sticks of her fan, and then tapping his hand with it.

After which she gently chid her daughter Annie, for not being more demonstrative when such kindnesses were showered, for her sake, on her old playfellow; and entertained us with some particulars concerning other deserving members of her family, whom it was desirable to set on their deserving legs.
All this time, her daughter Annie never once spoke, or lifted up her eyes.

All this time, Mr.Wickfield had his glance upon her as she sat by his own daughter's side.

It appeared to me that he never thought of being observed by anyone; but was so intent upon her, and upon his own thoughts in connexion with her, as to be quite absorbed.

He now asked what Mr.Jack Maldon had actually written in reference to himself, and to whom he had written?
'Why, here,' said Mrs.Markleham, taking a letter from the chimney-piece above the Doctor's head, 'the dear fellow says to the Doctor himself--where is it?
Oh!--"I am sorry to inform you that my health is suffering severely, and that I fear I may be reduced to the necessity of returning home for a time, as the only hope of restoration." That's pretty plain, poor fellow! His only hope of restoration! But Annie's letter is plainer still.