‘Pray,’ said Martin, ‘who is that sickly little girl opposite, with the tight round eyes? I don’t see anybody here, who looks like her mother, or who seems to have charge of her.’
‘Do you mean the matron in blue, sir?’ asked the colonel, with emphasis. ‘That is Mrs Jefferson Brick, sir.’
‘No, no,’ said Martin, ‘I mean the little girl, like a doll; directly opposite.’
‘Well, sir!’ cried the colonel. ‘that is Mrs Jefferson Brick.’
Martin glanced at the colonel’s face, but he was quite serious.
‘Bless my soul! I suppose there will be a young Brick then, one of these days?’ said Martin.
‘There are two young Bricks already, sir,’ returned the colonel.
The matron looked so uncommonly like a child herself, that Martin could not help saying as much. ‘Yes, sir,’ returned the colonel, ‘but some institutions develop human natur; others re—tard it.’
‘Jefferson Brick,’ he observed after a short silence, in commendation of his correspondent, ‘is one of the most remarkable men in our country, sir!’
This had passed almost in a whisper, for the distinguished gentleman alluded to sat on Martin’s other hand.