David　Copperfield
  scrutiny。
  ‘Hallo！’　said　my　aunt；　after　a　long　time。
  I　looked　up；　and　met　her　sharp　bright　glance　respectfully。
  ‘I　have　written　to　him；’　said　my　aunt。
  ‘To—？’
  ‘To　your　father…in…law；’　said　my　aunt。　‘I　have　sent　him　a　letter
  that　I’ll　trouble　him　to　attend　to；　or　he　and　I　will　fall　out；　I　can　tell
  him！’
  ‘Does　he　know　where　I　am；　aunt？’　I　inquired；　alarmed。
  ‘I　have　told　him；’　said　my　aunt；　with　a　nod。
  ‘Shall　I—be—given　up　to　him？’　I　faltered。
  ‘I　don’t　know；’　said　my　aunt。　‘We　shall　see。’
  ‘Oh！　I　can’t　think　what　I　shall　do；’　I　exclaimed；　‘if　I　have　to　go
  back　to　Mr。　Murdstone！’
  ‘I　don’t　know　anything　about　it；’　said　my　aunt；　shaking　her
  head。　‘I　can’t　say；　I　am　sure。　We　shall　see。’
  My　spirits　sank　under　these　words；　and　I　became　very　downcast
  and　heavy　of　heart。　My　aunt；　without　appearing　to　take　much　heed
  of　me；　put　on　a　coarse　apron　with　a　bib；　which　she　took　out　of　the
  press；　washed　up　the　teacups　with　her　own　hands；　and；　when
  everything　was　washed　and　set　in　the　tray　again；　and　the　cloth
  folded　and　put　on　the　top　of　the　whole；　rang　for　Janet　to　remove　it。
  She　next　swept　up　the　crumbs　with　a　little　broom　（putting　on　a
  pair　of　gloves　first）；　until　there　did　not　appear　to　be　one
  microscopic　speck　left　on　the　carpet；　next　dusted　and　arranged　the
  room；　which　was　dusted　and　arranged　to　a　hair’s　breadth　already。
  When　all　these　tasks　were　performed　to　her　satisfaction；　she　took
  off　the　gloves　and　apron；　folded　them　up；　put　them　in　the
  particular　corner　of　the　press　from　which　they　had　been　taken；
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  David　Copperfield
  brought　out　her　work…box　to　her　own　table　in　the　open　window；
  and　sat　down；　with　the　green　fan　between　her　and　the　light；　to
  work。
  ‘I　wish　you’d　go　upstairs；’　said　my　aunt；　as　she　threaded　her
  needle；　‘and　give　my　compliments　to　Mr。　Dick；　and　I’ll　be　glad　to
  know　how　he　gets　on　with　his　Memorial。’
  I　rose　with　all　alacrity；　to　acquit　myself　of　this　commission。
  ‘I　suppose；’　said　my　aunt；　eyeing　me　as　narrowly　as　she　had
  eyed　the　needle　in　threading　it；　‘you　think　Mr。　Dick　a　short　name；
  eh？’
  ‘I　thought　it　was　rather　a　short　name；　yesterday；’　I　confessed。
  ‘You　are　not　to　suppose　that　he　hasn’t　got　a　longer　name；　if　he
  chose　to　use　it；’　said　my　aunt；　with　a　loftier　air。　‘Babley—Mr。
  Richard　Babley—that’s　the　gentleman’s　true　name。’
  I　was　going　to　suggest；　with　a　modest　sense　of　my　youth　and　the
  familiarity　I　had　been　already　guilty　of；　that　I　had　better　give　him
  the　full　benefit　of　that　name；　when　my　aunt　went　on　to　say：
  ‘But　don’t　you　call　him　by　it；　whatever　you　do。　He　can’t　bear　his
  name。　That’s　a　peculiarity　of　his。　Though　I　don’t　know　that　it’s
  much　of　a　peculiarity；　either；　for　he　has　been　ill…used　enough；　by
  some　that　bear　it；　to　have　a　mortal　antipathy　for　it；　Heaven　knows。
  Mr。　Dick　is　his　name　here；　and　everywhere　else；　now—if　he　ever
  went　anywhere　else；　which　he　don’t。　So　take　care；　child；　you　don’t
  call　him　anything　but　Mr。　Dick。’
  I　promised　to　obey；　and　went　upstairs　with　my　message；
  thinking；　as　I　went；　that　if　Mr。　Dick　had　been　working　at　his
  Memorial　long；　at　the　same　rate　as　I　had　seen　him　working　at　it；
  through　the　open　door；　when　I　came　down；　he　was　probably
  getting　on　very　well　indeed。　I　found　him　still　driving　at　it　with　a
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  David　Copperfield
  long　pen；　and　his　head　almost　laid　upon　the　paper。　He　was　so
  intent　upon　it；　that　I　had　ample　leisure　to　observe　the　large　paper
  kite　in　a　corner；　the　confusion　of　bundles　of　manuscript；　the
  number　of　pens；　and；　above　all；　the　quantity　of　ink　（which　he
  seemed　to　have　in；　in　half…gallon　jars　by　the　dozen）；　before　he
  observed　my　being　present。
  ‘Ha！　Phoebus！’　said　Mr。　Dick；　laying　down　his　pen。　‘How　does
  the　world　go？　I’ll　tell　you　what；’　he　added；　in　a　lower　tone；　‘I
  shouldn’t　wish　it　to　be　mentioned；　but　it’s　a—’　here　he　beckoned　to
  me；　and　put　his　lips　close　to　my　ear—‘it’s　a　mad　world。　Mad　as
  Bedlam；　boy！’　said　Mr。　Dick；　taking　snuff　from　a　round　box　on　the
  table；　and　laughing　heartily。
  Without　presuming　to　give　my　opinion　on　this　question；　I
  delivered　my　message。
  ‘Well；’　said　Mr。　Dick；　in　answer；　‘my　compliments　to　her；　and
  I—I　believe　I　have　made　a　start。　I　think　I　have　made　a　start；’　said
  Mr。　Dick；　passing　his　hand　among　his　grey　hair；　and　casting
  anything　but　a　confident　look　at　his　manuscript。　‘You　have　been　to
  school？’
  ‘Yes；　sir；’　I　answered；　‘for　a　short　time。’
  ‘Do　you　recollect　the　date；’　said　Mr。　Dick；　looking　earnestly　at
  me；　and　taking　up　his　pen　to　note　it　down；　‘when　King　Charles　the
  First　had　his　head　cut　off？’　I　said　I　believed　it　happened　in　the
  year　sixteen　hundred　and　forty…nine。
  ‘Well；’　returned　Mr。　Dick；　scratching　his　ear　with　his　pen；　and
  looking　dubiously　at　me。　‘So　the　books　say；　but　I　don’t　see　how
  that　can　be。　Because；　if　it　was　so　long　ago；　how　could　the　people
  about　him　have　made　that　mistake　of　putting　some　of　the　trouble
  out　of　his　head；　after　it　was　taken　off；　into　mine？’
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  David　Copperfield
  I　was　very　much　surprised　by　the　inquiry；　but　could　give　no
  information　on　this　point。
  ‘It’s　very　strange；’　said　Mr。　Dick；　with　a　despondent　look　upon
  his　papers；　and　with　his　hand　among　his　hair　again；　‘that　I　never
  can　get　that　quite　right。　I　never　can　make　that　perfectly　clear。　But
  no　matter；　no　matter！’　he　said　cheerfully；　and　rousing　himself；
  ‘there’s　time　enough！　My　compliments　to　Miss　Trotwood；　I　am
  getting　on　very　well　indeed。’
  I　was　going　away；　when　he　directed　my　attention　to　the　kite。
  ‘What　do　you　think　of　that　for　a　kite？’　he　said。
  I　answered　that　it　was　a　beautiful　one。　I　should　think　it　must
  have　been　as　much　as　seven　feet　high。
  ‘I　made　it。　We’ll　go　and　fly　it；　you　and　I；’　said　Mr。　Dick。　‘Do　you
  see　this？’
  He　showed　me　that　it　was　covered　with　manuscript；　very　closely
  and　laboriously　written；　but　so　plainly；　that　as　I　looked　along　the
  lines；　I　thought　I　saw　some　allusion　to　King　Charles　the　First’s
  head　again；　in　one　or　two　places。
  ‘There’s　plenty　of　string；’　said　Mr。　Dick；　‘and　when　it　flies　high；
  it　takes　the　facts　a　long　way。　That’s　my　manner　of　diffusing　’em。　I
  don’t　know　where　they　may　come　down。　It’s　according　to
  circumstances；　and　the　wind；　and　so　forth；　but　I　take　my　chance　of
  that。’
  His　face　was　so　very　mild　and　pleasant；　and　had　something　so
  reverend　in　it；　though　it　was　hale　and　hearty；　that　I　was　not　sure
  but　that　he　was　having　a　good…humoured　jest　with　me。　So　I
  laughed；　and　he　laughed；　and　we　parted　the　best　friends　possible。
  ‘Well；　child；’　said　my　aunt；　when　I　went　downstairs。　‘And　what
  of　Mr。　Dick；　this　morning？’
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  David　Copperfield
  I　informed　her　that　he　sent　his　compliments；　and　was　getting　on
  very　well　indeed。
  ‘What　do　you　think　of　him？’　said　my　aunt。
  I　had　some　shadowy　idea　of　endeavouring　to　evade　the
  question；　by　replying　that　I　thought　him　a　very　nice　gentleman；
  but　my　aunt　was　not　to　be　so　put　off；　for　she　laid　her　work　down　in
  her　lap；　and　said；　folding　her　hands　upon　it：
  ‘Come！　Your　sister　Betsey　Trotwood　would　have　told　me　what
  she　thought　of　anyone；　directly。　Be　as　like　your　sister　as　you　can；
  and　speak　out！’
  ‘Is　he—is　Mr。　Dick—I　ask　because　I　don’t　know；　aunt—is　he　at
  all　out　of　his　mind；　then？’　I　stammered；　for　I　felt　I　was　on
  dangerous　ground。
  ‘Not　a　morsel；’　said　my　aunt。
  ‘Oh；　indeed！’　I　observed　faintly。
  ‘If　there　is　anything　in　the　world；’　said　my　aunt；　with　great
  decision　and　force　of　manner；　‘that　Mr。　Dick　is　not；　it’s　that。’
  I　had　nothing　better　to　offer；　than　another　timid；　‘Oh；　indeed！’
  ‘He　has　been　called　mad；’　said　my　aunt。　‘I　have　a　selfish
  pleasure　in　saying　he　has　been　called　mad；　or　I　should　not　have
  had　the　benefit　of　his　society　and　advice　for　these　last　ten　years
  and　upwards—in　fact；　ever　since　your　sister；　Betsey　Trotwood；
  disappointed　me。’
  ‘So　long　as　that？’　I　said。
  ‘And　nice　people　they　were；　who　had　the　audacity　to　call　him
  mad；’　pursued　my　aunt。　‘Mr。　Dick　is　a　sort　of　distant　connexion　of
  mine—it　doesn’t　matter　how；　I　needn’t　enter　into　that。　If　it　hadn’t
  been　for　me；　his　own　brother　would　have　shut　him　up　for　life。
  That’s　all。’
  Charles　Dickens　ElecBook　Classics
  David　Copperfield
  I　am　afraid　it　was　hypocritical　in　me；　but　seeing　that　my　aunt
  felt　strongly　on　the　subject；　I　tried　to　look　as　if　I　felt　strongly　too。
  ‘A　proud　fool！’　said　my　aunt。　‘Because　his　brother　was　a　little
  eccentric—though　he　is　not　half　so　eccentric　as　a　good　many
  people—he　didn’t　like　to　have　him　visible　about　his　house；　and
  sent　him　away　to　some　private　asylum…place：　though　he　had　been
  left　to　his　particular　care　by　their　deceased　father；　who　thought
  him　almost　a　natural。　And　a　wise　man　he　must　have　been　to　think
  so！　Mad　himself；　no　doubt。’
  Aga