“This is a fellow,” she said, “to champion and bring here, is he not? You are a true man!”
“Miss Dartle,” I returned, “you are surely not so unjust as to condemn me !”
“Why do you bring division between these two mad creatures?” she returned. “Don’t you know that they are both mad with their own self-will and pride?”
“Is it my doing?” I returned.
“Is it your doing!” she retorted. “Why do you bring this man here?”
“He is a deeply-injured man, Miss Dartle,” I replied. “You may not know it.”
“I know that James Steerforth,” she said, with her hand on her bosom, as if to prevent the storm that was raging there, from being loud, “has a false, corrupt heart, and is a traitor. But what need I know or care about this fellow, and his common niece?”
“Miss Dartle,” I returned, “you deepen the injury. It is sufficient already. I will only say, at parting, that you do him a great wrong.”
“I do him no wrong,” she returned. “They are a depraved, worthless set. I would have her whipped!”
Mr. Peggotty passed on, without a word, and went out at the door.
“Oh, shame, Miss Dartle! shame!” I said indignantly. “How can you bear to trample on his undeserved affliction!”
“I would trample on them all,” she answered. “I would have his house pulled down. I would have her branded on the face, dressed in rags, and