“Little Em’ly,” I said, glancing at her. “She is your daughter, isn’t she, Mr. Peggotty?”

“No, sir. My brother-in-law, Tom, was her father.”

I couldn’t help it. “⁠—Dead, Mr. Peggotty?” I hinted, after another respectful silence.

“Drowndead,” said Mr. Peggotty.

I felt the difficulty of resuming the subject, but had not got to the bottom of it yet, and must get to the bottom somehow. So I said: