“Well,” returned my mother, half laughing, “and if she is so silly as to say so, can I be blamed for it?”

“No one says you can,” said Peggotty.

“No, I should hope not, indeed!” returned my mother. “Haven’t you heard her say, over and over again, that on this account she wished to spare me a great deal of trouble, which she thinks I am not suited for, and which I really don’t know myself that I am suited for; and isn’t she up early and late, and going to and fro continually⁠—and doesn’t she do all sorts of things, and grope into all sorts of places, coal-holes and pantries and I don’t know where, that can’t be very agreeable⁠—and do you mean to insinuate that there is not a sort of devotion in that?”

“I don’t insinuate at all,” said Peggotty.