“You remember my aunt, Peggotty?” said I.
“For the love of goodness, child,” exclaimed my aunt, “don’t call the woman by that South Sea Island name! If she married and got rid of it, which was the best thing she could do, why don’t you give her the benefit of the change? What’s your name now— P. ?” said my aunt, as a compromise for the obnoxious appellation.
“Barkis, ma’am,” said Peggotty, with a curtsey.
“Well! That’s human,” said my aunt. “It sounds less as if you wanted a missionary. How d’ye do, Barkis? I hope you’re well?”
Encouraged by these gracious words, and by my aunt’s extending her hand, Barkis came forward, and took the hand, and curtseyed her acknowledgements.
“We are older than we were, I see,” said my aunt. “We have only met each other once before, you know. A nice business we made of it then! Trot, my dear, another cup.”
I handed it dutifully to my aunt, who was in her usual inflexible state of figure; and ventured a remonstrance with her on the subject of her sitting on a box.
“Let me draw the sofa here, or the easy-chair, aunt,” said I. “Why should you be so uncomfortable?”
“Thank you, Trot,” replied my aunt, “I prefer to sit upon my property.” Here my aunt looked hard at Mrs. Crupp, and observed, “We needn’t trouble you to wait, ma’am.”
“Shall I put a little more tea in the pot afore I go, ma’am?” said Mrs. Crupp.
“No, I thank you, ma’am,” replied my aunt.