But nobody said anything about poor Berry, who cried for six weeks (being soundly rated by her good aunt all the time), and lapsed into a state of hopeless spinsterhood.
'Berry's very fond of you, ain't she ?' Paul once asked Mrs Pipchin when they were sitting by the fire with the cat.
'Yes,' said Mrs Pipchin.
'Why ?' asked Paul.
'Why!' returned the disconcerted old lady.

'How can you ask such things, Sir! why are you fond of your sister Florence ?' 'Because she's very good,' said Paul.

'There's nobody like Florence.' 'Well!' retorted Mrs Pipchin, shortly, 'and there's nobody like me, I suppose.' 'Ain't there really though ?' asked Paul, leaning forward in his chair, and looking at her very hard.
'No,' said the old lady.
'I am glad of that,' observed Paul, rubbing his hands thoughtfully.
'That's a very good thing.' Mrs Pipchin didn't dare to ask him why, lest she should receive some perfectly annihilating answer.

But as a compensation to her wounded feelings, she harassed Master Bitherstone to that extent until bed-time, that he began that very night to make arrangements for an overland return to India, by secreting from his supper a quarter of a round of bread and a fragment of moist Dutch cheese, as the beginning of a stock of provision to support him on the voyage.
Mrs Pipchin had kept watch and ward over little Paul and his sister for nearly twelve months.

They had been home twice, but only for a few days; and had been constant in their weekly visits to Mr Dombey at the hotel.
By little and little Paul had grown stronger, and had become able to dispense with his carriage; though he still looked thin and delicate; and still remained the same old, quiet, dreamy child that he had been when first consigned to Mrs Pipchin's care.