He left me at the courtyard, and a young lady, who was very pretty and seemed very proud, let me in, and I noticed that the passages were all dark, and that there was a candle burning.  My guide, who called me “boy,” but was really about my own age, was as scornful of me as if she had been one-and-twenty, and a queen.  She led me to Miss Havisham’s room, and there, in an armchair, with her elbow resting on the table, sat the strangest lady I have ever seen, or shall ever see.

She was dressed in rich materials—­satins and lace and silks—­all of white—­or rather, which had been white, but, like all else in the room, were now faded yellow.  Her shoes were white, and she had a long white veil dependent from her hair, and bridal flowers in her hair; but her hair was white.  I saw that the bride within the bridal dress had withered like the dress.

“Who is it?” said the lady at the table.

“Pip, ma’am.  Mr. Pumblechook’s boy.”

“Come nearer; let me look at you; come close.  You are not afraid of a woman who has never seen the sun since you were born?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Do you know what I touch here?” she said, laying her hands, one upon the other, on her left side.

“Yes, ma’am; your heart.”

“Broken!” She was silent for a little while, and then added, “I am tired; I want diversion.  Play, play, play!”

What was an unfortunate boy to do?  I didn’t know how to play.

“Call Estella,” said the lady.  “Call Estella, at the door.”

It was a dreadful thing to be bawling “Estella” to a scornful young lady in a mysterious passage in an unknown house, but I had to do it.  And Estella came, and I heard her say, in answer to Miss Havisham, “Play with this boy!  Why, he is a common labouring boy!”

I thought I overheard Miss Havisham answer, “Well?  You can break his heart.”

We played at beggar my neighbour, and before the game was out Estella said disdainfully, “He calls the knaves Jacks, this boy!  And what coarse hands he has!  And what thick boots!”

I was very glad to get away.  My coarse hands and my common boots had never troubled me before; but they troubled me now, and I determined to ask Joe why he had taught me to call those picture cards Jacks which ought to be called knaves.

For a long time I went once a week to this strange, gloomy house—­it was called Satis House—­and once Estella told me I might kiss her.

And then Miss Havisham decided I was to be apprenticed to Joe, and gave him L25 for the purpose; and I left off going to see her, and helped Joe in the forge.  But I didn’t like Joe’s trade, and I was afflicted by that most miserable thing—­to feel ashamed of home.

I couldn’t resist paying Miss Havisham a visit; and, not seeing Estella, stammered that I hoped she was well.

“Abroad,” said Miss Havisham; “educating for a lady; far out of reach; prettier than ever; admired by all who see her.  Do you feel that you have lost her?”