‘Ah, Agnes!’ I returned. ‘You are my good Angel!’
She smiled rather sadly, I thought, and shook her head.
‘Yes, Agnes, my good Angel! Always my good Angel!’
‘If I were, indeed, Trotwood,’ she returned, ‘there is one thing that I should set my heart on very much.’
I looked at her inquiringly; but already with a foreknowledge of her meaning.
‘On warning you,’ said Agnes, with a steady glance, ‘against your bad Angel.’
‘My dear Agnes,’ I began, ‘if you mean Steerforth — ’
‘I do, Trotwood,’ she returned.