‘No. Devoted to her.’

‘Then, I have got it, boy!’ said Mr. Dick.

The sudden exultation with which he slapped me on the knee, and leaned back in his chair, with his eyebrows lifted up as high as he could possibly lift them, made me think him farther out of his wits than ever. He became as suddenly grave again, and leaning forward as before, said — first respectfully taking out his pocket-handkerchief, as if it really did represent my aunt:

‘Most wonderful woman in the world, Trotwood.

Why has she done nothing to set things right?’

‘Too delicate and difficult a subject for such interference,’ I replied.