What's that?

　　At length,  much to  my relief,  my aunt  and Mr.  Wickfield came  back, after a pretty long absence.  They  were not so successful  as I could have  wished; for though the advantages of the school were undeniable, my aunt had not approved of any of the boarding-houses proposed for me.

　　'It's very unfortunate,' said my aunt.  'I don't know what to do, Trot.'

　　'It does happen unfortunately,' said Mr. Wickfield.  'But I'll tell you what you can do, Miss Trotwood.'

　　'What's that?' inquired my aunt.

　　'Leave  your nephew  here, for  the present.   He's a  quiet fellow.   He  won't disturb me at all.   It's a capital house  for study.  As quiet  as a monastery, and almost as roomy.  Leave him here.'

　　My aunt evidently liked the offer, though she was delicate of accepting it.   So did I. 'Come, Miss Trotwood,' said Mr.  Wickfield.  'This is the way out of  the difficulty.  It's only a temporary arrangement, you know.  If it don't act well, or don't  quite accord  with our  mutual convenience,  he can  easily go  to the right-about.   There will  be time  to find  some better  place for  him in  the meanwhile.  You had better determine to leave him here for the present!'

　　'I am very much obliged to you,' said my aunt; 'and so is he, I see; but -'

　　'Come! I know what you mean,' cried Mr. Wickfield.  'You shall not be  oppressed by the receipt of favours, Miss Trotwood.  You may pay for him, if you like.  We won't be hard about terms, but you shall pay if you will.'

　　'On  that understanding,'  said my  aunt, 'though  it doesn't  lessen the   real obligation, I shall be very glad to leave him.'

　　'Then come and see my little housekeeper,' said Mr. Wickfield.

　　We accordingly went  up a wonderful  old staircase; with  a balustrade so  broad that we might have gone up that, almost as easily; and into a shady old  drawing room, lighted by  some three or  four of the  quaint windows I  had looked up at from the street: which had  old oak seats in them,  that seemed to have come  of the same trees as the shining oak floor, and the great beams in the ceiling.  It was a prettily furnished room, with a piano and some lively furniture in red and green, and  some flowers.   It seemed  to be  all old  nooks and corners; and in every  nook  and corner  there  was some  queer  little table,  or  cupboard, or bookcase, or seat, or something or other, that made me think there was not  such another good corner in the  room; until I looked at  the next one, and found  it equal to it, if not better.  On everything there was the same air of  retirement and cleanliness that marked the house outside.