“Sweetmeats did you say, Mr. Barkis?” For I thought he wanted something else to eat, and had pointedly alluded to that description of refreshment.
“Hearts,” said Mr. Barkis. “Sweet hearts; no person walks with her!”
“With Peggotty?”
“Ah!” he said. “Her.”
“Oh, no. She never had a sweetheart.”
“Didn’t she though!” said Mr. Barkis.
Again he made up his mouth to whistle, and again he didn’t whistle, but sat looking at the horse’s ears.
“So she makes,” said Mr. Barkis, after a long interval of reflection, “all the apple parsties, and doos all the cooking, do she?”
I replied that such was the fact.
“Well. I’ll tell you what,” said Mr. Barkis. “P’raps you might be writin’ to her?”