“You consider it, undoubtedly, a handsome sum of money.  Now, that handsome sum of money, Pip, is your own.  It is a present to you on this day, in earnest of your expectations.  And at the rate of that handsome sum of money per annum, and at no higher rate, you are to live until the donor of the whole appears.  That is to say, you will now take your money affairs entirely into your own hands, and you will draw from Wemmick one hundred and twenty-five pounds per quarter, until you are in communication with the fountain-head, and no longer with the mere agent.  As I have told you before, I am the mere agent.  I execute my instructions, and I am paid for doing so.  I think them injudicious, but I am not paid for giving any opinion on their merits.”

I was beginning to express my gratitude to my benefactor for the great liberality with which I was treated, when Mr. Jaggers stopped me.  “I am not paid, Pip,” said he, coolly, “to carry your words to any one;” and then gathered up his coat-tails, as he had gathered up the subject, and stood frowning at his boots as if he suspected them of designs against him.

After a pause, I hinted: 

“There was a question just now, Mr. Jaggers, which you desired me to waive for a moment.  I hope I am doing nothing wrong in asking it again?”

“What is it?” said he.

I might have known that he would never help me out; but it took me aback to have to shape the question afresh, as if it were quite new.  “Is it likely,” I said, after hesitating, “that my patron, the fountain-head you have spoken of, Mr. Jaggers, will soon—­” there I delicately stopped.

“Will soon what?” asked Mr. Jaggers.  “That’s no question as it stands, you know.”

“Will soon come to London,” said I, after casting about for a precise form of words, “or summon me anywhere else?”

“Now here,” replied Mr. Jaggers, fixing me for the first time with his dark deep-set eyes, “we must revert to the evening when we first encountered one another in your village.  What did I tell you then, Pip?”

“You told me, Mr. Jaggers, that it might be years hence when that person appeared.”

“Just so,” said Mr. Jaggers; “that’s my answer.”

As we looked full at one another, I felt my breath come quicker in my strong desire to get something out of him.  And as I felt that it came quicker, and as I felt that he saw that it came quicker, I felt that I had less chance than ever of getting anything out of him.

“Do you suppose it will still be years hence, Mr. Jaggers?”

Mr. Jaggers shook his head — not in negativing the question, but in altogether negativing the notion that he could anyhow be got to answer it — and the two horrible casts of the twitched faces looked, when my eyes strayed up to them, as if they had come to a crisis in their suspended attention, and were going to sneeze.

“Come!” said Mr. Jaggers, warming the backs of his legs with the backs of his warmed hands, “I’ll be plain with you, my friend Pip.  That’s a question I must not be asked.  You’ll understand that, better, when I tell you it’s a question that might compromise me.  Come!  I’ll go a little further with you; I’ll say something more.”