He patted me on the head; but somehow I didn’t like him or his deep voice, and I was jealous that his hand should touch my mother’s in touching me—which it did. I put it away, as well as I could.

“Oh Davy!” remonstrated my mother.

“Dear boy!” said the gentleman. “I cannot wonder at his devotion!”

I never saw such a beautiful colour on my mother’s face before. She gently chid me for being rude; and, keeping me close to her shawl, turned to thank the gentleman for taking so much trouble as to bring her home. She put out her hand to him as she spoke, and, as he met it with his own, she glanced, I thought, at me.

“Let us say ‘good-night,’ my fine boy,” said the gentleman, when he had bent his head—I saw him!—over my mother’s little glove.

“Good-night!” said I.

“Come! Let us be the best friends in the world!” said the gentleman, laughing. “Shake hands!”

My right hand was in my mother’s left, so I gave him the other.

“Why, that’s the wrong hand, Davy!” laughed the gentleman.

My mother drew my right hand forward, but I was resolved, for my former reason, not to give it him, and I did not. I gave him the other, and he shook it heartily, and said I was a brave fellow, and went away.

At this minute I see him turn round in the garden, and give us a last look with his ill-omened black eyes, before the door was shut.

Peggotty, who had not said a word or moved a finger, secured the fastenings instantly, and we all went into the parlour. My mother, contrary to her usual habit, instead of coming to the elbow-chair by the fire, remained at the other end of the room, and sat singing to herself.

“—Hope you have had a pleasant evening, Ma’am,” said Peggotty, standing as stiff as a barrel in the centre of the room, with a candlestick in her hand.

“Much obliged to you, Peggotty,” returned my mother, in a cheerful voice, “I have had a very pleasant evening.”

“A stranger or so makes an agreeable change,” suggested Peggotty.

“A very agreeable change, indeed,” returned my mother.

Peggotty continuing to stand motionless in the middle of the room, and my mother resuming her singing, I fell asleep, though I was not so sound asleep but that I could hear voices, without hearing what they said. When I half awoke from this uncomfortable doze, I found Peggotty and my mother both in tears, and both talking.

“Not such a one as this, Mr. Copperfield wouldn’t have liked,” said Peggotty. “That I say, and that I swear!”

“Good Heavens!” cried my mother, “you’ll drive me mad! Was ever any poor girl so ill-used by her servants as I am! Why do I do myself the injustice of calling myself a girl? Have I never been married, Peggotty?”

“God knows you have, Ma’am,” returned Peggotty.