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“Yes, ma’am.”

“What do I touch?”

“Your heart.”

“Broken.”

She said the word eagerly, and with a weird smile that had a kind of boast in it.

“I am tired,” said Miss Havisham. “I have a sick fancy that I want to see some play. I want diversion, and I have done with men and women. There, there,” with an impatient movement of the fingers of her right hand, “play, play, play!”

For a moment, with the fear of my sister “working me” before my eyes, I had a desperate idea of starting round the room in the assumed character of Mr. Pumblechook’s chaise cart. But I felt so unequal to the performance that I gave it up, and stood looking at Miss Havisham in what I suppose she took for a dogged manner, and presently she said:

“Are you sullen and obstinate?”

“No, ma’am,” I said. “I am very sorry for you and very sorry I can’t play just now. If you complain of me, I shall get into trouble with my sister, so I would do it, if I could, but it’s new here, and so strange and so fine, and–melancholy.” I stopped, fearing I might have said too much, and we took another look at each other. Before she spoke again, she looked at herself in the glass, then she turned, and flashing a look at me, said, “Call Estella. You can do that. Call Estella. At the door.”

To stand in the dark in the mysterious passage of an unknown house, bawling “Estella” to a scornful young lady neither visible nor responsive, and feeling it a dreadful liberty to roar out her name, was almost as bad as playing to order. But she answered at last, and her light came trembling along the dark passage, like a star. Miss Havisham beckoned her to come close to her, took up a jewel, and tried its effect against the pretty brown hair. “Your own, one day, my dear,” she said, “and you will use it well. Let me see you play cards with this boy.”

“With this boy! Why, he is a common labouring boy!” then she asked, with greatest disdain, “What do you play, boy?”

“Nothing but ‘beggar my neighbour,’ miss.”

“Beggar him,” said Miss Havisham to Estella. So we sat down to cards, and Miss Havisham sat, corpse-like, watching as we played.

“He calls the knaves Jacks, this boy,” said Estella, with disdain, before the first game was out. “And what coarse hands he has, and what thick boots!”

I had never thought of being ashamed of my hands before, but now I began to notice them. Her contempt for me was so strong that I caught it.

She won the game, and I dealt. I misdealt, as was only natural, when I knew she was lying in wait for me to do wrong, and she denounced me for a clumsy, stupid, labouring boy.

“You say nothing of her,” remarked Miss Havisham to me. “She says many hard things of you, yet you say nothing of her. What do you think of her?”

“I don’t like to say,” I stammered.

“Tell me in my ear,” said Miss Havisham, bending down.

“I think she is very proud,” I replied in a whisper–“and very pretty–and very insulting.”

“Anything else?”

“I think I should like to go home.”

“You shall go soon,” said Miss Havisham aloud. “Play the game out!” I played the game to an end, and Estella beggared me.

“When shall I have you here again?” said Miss Havisham. “I know nothing of the days of the week or of the weeks of the year. Come again after six days. You hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Estella, take him down. Let him have something to eat, and let him roam about and look about him while he eats. Go, Pip.”

I followed Estella down as I had followed her up, and at last I stood again in the glare of daylight which quite confounded me, for I felt as if I had been in the candle-light of the strange room many hours.