“Something has been got from him by fraud, I know,” returned Traddles quietly; “and so do you, Mr. Heep. We will refer that question, if you please, to Mr. Micawber.”

“Ury⁠—!” Mrs. Heep began, with an anxious gesture.

“ You hold your tongue, mother,” he returned; “least said, soonest mended.”

“But, my Ury⁠—”

“Will you hold your tongue, mother, and leave it to me?”