‘Yes, you are. And why couldn’t you say that at once, Sir? Perhaps you know the plaintiff too? Eh, Mr. Winkle?’
‘I don’t know her; I’ve seen her.’
‘Oh, you don’t know her, but you’ve seen her? Now, have the goodness to tell the gentlemen of the jury what you mean by that, Mr. Winkle.’
‘I mean that I am not intimate with her, but I have seen her when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick, in Goswell Street.’
‘How often have you seen her, Sir?’
‘How often?’
‘Yes, Mr. Winkle, how often? I’ll repeat the question for you a dozen times, if you require it, Sir.’ And the learned gentleman, with a firm and steady frown, placed his hands on his hips, and smiled suspiciously to the jury.
On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating, customary on such points. First of all, Mr. Winkle said it was quite impossible for him to say how many times he had seen Mrs. Bardell. Then he was asked if he had seen her twenty times, to which he replied, ‘Certainly—more than that.’ Then he was asked whether he hadn’t seen her a hundred times—whether he couldn’t swear that he had seen her more than fifty times—whether he didn’t know that he had seen her at least seventy-five times, and so forth; the satisfactory conclusion which was arrived at, at last, being, that he had better take care of himself, and mind what he was about. The witness having been by these means reduced to the requisite ebb of nervous perplexity, the examination was continued as follows—
‘Pray, Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the defendant Pickwick at these apartments in the plaintiff’s house in Goswell Street, on one particular morning, in the month of July last?’
‘Yes, I do.’