“Deuce take the man!” exclaimed my aunt. “Always fishing for motives, when they’re on the surface! Why, to make the child happy and useful.”
“It must be a mixed motive, I think,” said Mr. Wickfield, shaking his head and smiling incredulously.
“A mixed fiddlestick!” returned my aunt. “You claim to have one plain motive in all you do yourself. You don’t suppose, I hope, that you are the only plain dealer in the world?”
“Ay, but I have only one motive in life, Miss Trotwood,” he rejoined, smiling. “Other people have dozens, scores, hundreds. I have only one. There’s the difference. However, that’s beside the question. The best school? Whatever the motive, you want the best?”
My aunt nodded assent.
“At the best we have,” said Mr. Wickfield, considering, “your nephew couldn’t board just now.”
“But he could board somewhere else, I suppose?” suggested my aunt.
Mr. Wickfield thought I could. After a little discussion, he proposed to take my aunt to the school, that she might see it and judge for herself; also, to take her, with the same object, to two or three houses where he thought I could be boarded. My aunt embracing the proposal, we were all three going out together, when he stopped and said:
“Our little friend here might have some motive, perhaps, for objecting to the arrangements. I think we had better leave him behind?”
My aunt seemed disposed to contest the point; but to facilitate matters I said I would gladly remain behind, if they pleased; and returned into Mr. Wickfield’s office, where I sat down again, in the chair I had first occupied, to await their return.