and be married again," said my aunt, when I had finished, "I can't conceive."
"Perhaps she fell in love with her second husband," Mr. Dick suggested.
"Fell in love!" repeated my aunt, "What do you mean? What business had she to do it?"
"Perhaps," Mr. Dick simpered, after thinking a little, "she did it for pleasure."
"Pleasure, indeed!" replied my aunt. "A mighty pleasure for the poor baby to fix her simple faith upon any dog of a fellow, certain to ill-use her in some way or other. What did she propose to herself, I should like to know! She had had one husband. She had seen David Copperfield out of the world, who was always running after wax dolls from his cradle. She had got a baby—oh, there were a pair of babies when she gave birth to this child sitting here, that Friday night!—and what more did she want?"
Mr. Dick secretly shook his head at me, as if he thought there was no getting over this.
"She couldn't even have a baby like anybody else," said my aunt, "Where was this child's sister, Betsey Trotwood! Not forthcoming. Don't tell me!"
Mr. Dick seemed quite frightened.
"That little man of a doctor, with his head on one side," said my aunt, "Jellips, or whatever his name was, what was he about? All he could do, was to say to me, like a robin redbreast—as he is—'It's a boy.' A boy! Yah, the imbecility of the whole set of 'em!"
The heartiness of the ejaculation startled Mr. Dick exceedingly; and me, too, if I am to tell the truth.
"And then, as if this was not enough, and she had not stood sufficiently in the light of this child's sister, Betsey Trotwood," said my aunt, "she marries a second time—goes and marries a Murderer—or a man with a name like it—and stands in this child's light! And the natural consequence is, as anybody but a baby might have foreseen, that he prowls and wanders. He's as like Cain before he was grown up, as he can be."
Mr. Dick looked hard at me, as if to identify me in this character.
"And then there's that woman with the Pagan name," said my aunt, "that Peggotty, she goes and gets married next. Because she has not seen enough of the evil attending such things, she goes and gets married next, as the child relates. I only hope," said my aunt, shaking her head, "that her husband is one of those Poker husbands who abound in the newspapers, and will beat her well with one."
I could not bear to hear my old nurse so decried, and made the subject of such a wish. I told my aunt that indeed she was mistaken. That Peggotty was the best, the truest, the most faithful, most devoted, and most self-denying friend and servant in the world; who had ever loved me dearly, who had ever loved my mother dearly; who had held my mother's dying head upon her arm, on whose face my mother had imprinted her last grateful kiss. And my remembrance of them both, choking me, I broke down as I was trying to say that her home was my home, and that all she had was mine, and that I would have
