Page 460 - david-copperfield

beating, softly, all the while.
‘Wouldn’t you like to step in,’ said Mr. Omer, ‘and speak
to her? Walk in and speak to her, sir! Make yourself at
home!’
I was too bashful to do so then - I was afraid of confusing
her, and I was no less afraid of confusing myself.- but I in-
formed myself of the hour at which she left of an evening, in
order that our visit might be timed accordingly; and taking
leave of Mr. Omer, and his pretty daughter, and her little
children, went away to my dear old Peggotty’s.
Here she was, in the tiled kitchen, cooking dinner! The
moment I knocked at the door she opened it, and asked me
what I pleased to want. I looked at her with a smile, but she
gave me no smile in return. I had never ceased to write to
her, but it must have been seven years since we had met.
‘Is Mr. Barkis at home, ma’am?’ I said, feigning to speak
roughly to her.
‘He’s at home, sir,’ returned Peggotty, ‘but he’s bad abed
with the rheumatics.’
‘Don’t he go over to Blunderstone now?’ I asked.
‘When he’s well he do,’ she answered.
‘Do YOU ever go there, Mrs. Barkis?’
She looked at me more attentively, and I noticed a quick
movement of her hands towards each other.
‘Because I want to ask a question about a house there,
that they call the - what is it? - the Rookery,’ said I.
She took a step backward, and put out her hands in an
undecided frightened way, as if to keep me off.
‘Peggotty!’ I cried to her.