Ilookintothejumbledstoresofthemiddledistanceofmemory，andBeckenhamseemstomeaquitetransitoryphase。Butreallytheywerethereseveralyears；throughnearlyallmymarriedlife，infact，andfarlongerthantheyearandoddmonthswelivedtogetheratWimblehurst。ButtheWimblehursttimewiththemisfullerinmymemorybyfarthentheBeckenhamperiod。
Therecomesbacktomewithaquiteconsiderableamountofdetailtheeffectofthatgardenpartyofmyaunt’sandofalittlesocialmisbehaviourofwhichIwasguiltyonthatoccasion。It’slikeascrapfromanotherlife。It’sallsetinwhatisformeakindofcutaneousfeeling，thefeelingofratherill-cutcityclothes，frockcoatandgreytrousers，andofahighcollarandtieworninsunshineamongflowers。Ihavestillaquitevividmemoryofthelittletrapezoidallawn，ofthegathering，andparticularlyofthehatsandfeathersofthegathering，oftheparlour-maidandthebluetea-cups，andofthemagnificentpresenceofMrs。Hogberryandofherclear，resonantvoice。Itwasavoicethatwouldhavegonewithagardenpartyonalargerscale；itwentintoadjacentpremises；
itincludedthegardenerwhowasfarupthevegetablepatchandtechnicallyoutofplay。Theonlyothermenweremyaunt’sdoctor，twooftheclergy，amiablecontrastedmen，andMrs。
Hogberry’simperfectlygrown-upson，ayouthjustburstingintocollar。Therestwerewomen，exceptforayounggirlorsoinastateofspeechlessgoodbehaviour。Marionalsowasthere。
MarionandIhadarrivedalittleestranged，andIrememberherasasilentpresence，ashadowacrossallthatsunlitemptinessofintercourse。Wehadembitteredeachotherwithoneofthosemiserablelittledisputesthatseemedsounavoidablebetweenus。