“Is Mr. Barkis at home, ma’am?” I said, feigning to speak roughly to her.

“He’s at home, sir,” returned Peggotty, “but he’s bad abed with the rheumatics.”

“Don’t he go over to Blunderstone now?” I asked.

“When he’s well he do,” she answered.

“Do you ever go there, Mrs. Barkis?”

She looked at me more attentively, and I noticed a quick movement of her hands towards each other.

“Because I want to ask a question about a house there, that they call the⁠—what is it?⁠—the Rookery,” said I.