“What did I know?” said Miss Mowcher, taking out her handkerchief again, and giving one little stamp on the ground whenever, at short intervals, she applied it to her eyes with both hands at once. “He was crossing you and wheedling you, I saw; and you were soft wax in his hands, I saw. Had I left the room a minute, when his man told me that ‘Young Innocence’ (so he called you, and you may call him ‘Old Guilt’ all the days of your life) had set his heart upon her, and she was giddy and liked him, but his master was resolved that no harm should come of it⁠—more for your sake than for hers⁠—and that that was their business here? How could I but believe him? I saw Steerforth soothe and please you by his praise of her! You were the first to mention her name. You owned to an old admiration of her. You were hot and cold, and red and white, all at once when I spoke to you of her. What could I think⁠—what did