Like the famous parrot, Nicholas thought a great deal, but was unable to utter a word.
'She is the daughter,' said Mr Cheeryble, 'of a lady who, when she was a beautiful girl herself, and I was very many years younger, I--it seems a strange word for me to utter now--I loved very dearly.

You will smile, perhaps, to hear a grey-headed man talk about such things.

You will not offend me, for when I was as young as you, I dare say I should have done the same.' 'I have no such inclination, indeed,' said Nicholas.
'My dear brother Ned,' continued Mr Cheeryble, 'was to have married her sister, but she died.

She is dead too now, and has been for many years.
She married her choice; and I wish I could add that her after-life was as happy as God knows I ever prayed it might be!' A short silence intervened, which Nicholas made no effort to break.
'If trial and calamity had fallen as lightly on his head, as in the deepest truth of my own heart I ever hoped (for her sake) it would, his life would have been one of peace and happiness,' said the old gentleman calmly.

'It will be enough to say that this was not the case; that she was not happy; that they fell into complicated distresses and difficulties; that she came, twelve months before her death, to appeal to my old friendship; sadly changed, sadly altered, broken-spirited from suffering and ill-usage, and almost broken-hearted.