“ My own house?” repeated Mr. Murdstone. “Clara!”

“ Our own house, I mean,” faltered my mother, evidently frightened⁠—“I hope you must know what I mean, Edward⁠—it’s very hard that in your own house I may not have a word to say about domestic matters. I am sure I managed very well before we were married. There’s evidence,” said my mother, sobbing; “ask Peggotty if I didn’t do very well when I wasn’t interfered with!”

“Edward,” said Miss Murdstone, “let there be an end of this. I go tomorrow.”

“Jane Murdstone,” said her brother, “be silent! How dare you to insinuate that you don’t know my character better than your words imply?”