Miss Havisham beckoned her to come close, and took up a jewel from the table, and tried its effect upon her fair young bosom and against her pretty brown hair. “Your own, one day, my dear, 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!” I thought I overheard Miss Havisham answer—only it seemed so unlikely—”Well? You can break his heart.” “What do you play, boy?” asked Estella of myself, with the greatest disdain. “Nothing but beggar my neighbour, miss.” “Beggar him,” said Miss Havisham to Estella. So we sat down to cards.
“He calls the knaves, Jacks, this boy!” said Estella with disdain, before our 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 I began to consider them a very indifferent pair. Her contempt for me was so strong, that it became infectious, and 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 stupid, clumsy labouring-boy. “You say nothing of her,” remarked Miss Havisham to me, as she looked on. “She says many hard things of you, but 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. “Anything else?” “I think she is very pretty.” “Anything else?” “I think she is very insulting.” (She was looking at me then with a look of supreme aversion.) “Anything else?” “I think I should like to go home.” “And never see her again, though she is so pretty?” “I am not sure that I shouldn’t like to see her again, but I should like to go home now.”