Great Expectations

"This is a pretty thing, Belinda!" said Mr. Pocket, returning with a

countenance expressive of grief and despair. "Here's the cook lying

insensibly drunk on the kitchen floor, with a large bundle of fresh

butter made up in the cupboard ready to sell for grease!"

Mrs. Pocket instantly showed much amiable emotion, and said, "This is

that odious Sophia's doing!"

"What do you mean, Belinda?" demanded Mr. Pocket.

"Sophia has told you," said Mrs. Pocket. "Did I not see her with my own

eyes and hear her with my own ears, come into the room just now and ask

to speak to you?"

"But has she not taken me down stairs, Belinda," returned Mr. Pocket,

"and shown me the woman, and the bundle too?"

"And do you defend her, Matthew," said Mrs. Pocket, "for making

mischief?"

Mr. Pocket uttered a dismal groan.

"Am I, grandpapa's granddaughter, to be nothing in the house?" said Mrs.

Pocket. "Besides, the cook has always been a very nice respectful woman,

and said in the most natural manner when she came to look after the

situation, that she felt I was born to be a Duchess."

There was a sofa where Mr. Pocket stood, and he dropped upon it in the

attitude of the Dying Gladiator. Still in that attitude he said, with a

hollow voice, "Good night, Mr. Pip," when I deemed it advisable to go to

bed and leave him.