“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!”