“This is my nephew,” said my aunt.

“Wasn’t aware you had one, Miss Trotwood,” said Mr. Wickfield.

“My grandnephew, that is to say,” observed my aunt.

“Wasn’t aware you had a grandnephew, I give you my word,” said Mr. Wickfield.

“I have adopted him,” said my aunt, with a wave of her hand, importing that his knowledge and his ignorance were all one to her, “and I have brought him here, to put to a school where he may be thoroughly well taught, and well treated. Now tell me where that school is, and what it is, and all about it.”

“Before I can advise you properly,” said Mr. Wickfield⁠—“the old question, you know. What’s your motive in this?”