Not a morsel,

　　'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.'

　　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.'