‘“Bewitching — “’ I began.

My mother put her hands upon my lips to stop me.

‘It was never bewitching,’ she said, laughing. ‘It never could have been bewitching, Davy. Now I know it wasn’t!’

‘Yes, it was. “Bewitching Mrs. Copperfield”,’ I repeated stoutly. ‘And, “pretty.”’

‘No, no, it was never pretty.

Not pretty,’ interposed my mother, laying her fingers on my lips again.

‘Yes it was. “Pretty little widow.”’

‘What foolish, impudent creatures!’ cried my mother, laughing and covering her face.