Biddy sighed as she looked at the ships sailing on, and returned for answer, “Yes; I am not over-particular.”  It scarcely sounded flattering, but I knew she meant well.

“Instead of that,” said I, plucking up more grass and chewing a blade or two, “see how I am going on.  Dissatisfied, and uncomfortable, and — what would it signify to me, being coarse and common, if nobody had told me so!”

Biddy turned her face suddenly towards mine, and looked far more attentively at me than she had looked at the sailing ships.

“It was neither a very true nor a very polite thing to say,” she remarked, directing her eyes to the ships again.  “Who said it?”

I was disconcerted, for I had broken away without quite seeing where I was going to.  It was not to be shuffled off now, however, and I answered, “The beautiful young lady at Miss Havisham’s, and she’s more beautiful than anybody ever was, and I admire her dreadfully, and I want to be a gentleman on her account.”  Having made this lunatic confession, I began to throw my torn-up grass into the river, as if I had some thoughts of following it.

“Do you want to be a gentleman, to spite her or to gain her over?” Biddy quietly asked me, after a pause.

“I don’t know,” I moodily answered.

“Because, if it is to spite her,” Biddy pursued, “I should think — but you know best — that might be better and more independently done by caring nothing for her words.  And if it is to gain her over, I should think — but you know best — she was not worth gaining over.”

Exactly what I myself had thought, many times.  Exactly what was perfectly manifest to me at the moment.  But how could I, a poor dazed village lad, avoid that wonderful inconsistency into which the best and wisest of men fall every day?

“It may be all quite true,” said I to Biddy, “but I admire her dreadfully.”

In short, I turned over on my face when I came to that, and got a good grasp on the hair on each side of my head, and wrenched it well.  All the while knowing the madness of my heart to be so very mad and misplaced, that I was quite conscious it would have served my face right, if I had lifted it up by my hair, and knocked it against the pebbles as a punishment for belonging to such an idiot.

Biddy was the wisest of girls, and she tried to reason no more with me.  She put her hand, which was a comfortable hand though roughened by work, upon my hands, one after another, and gently took them out of my hair.  Then she softly patted my shoulder in a soothing way, while with my face upon my sleeve I cried a little — exactly as I had done in the brewery yard — and felt vaguely convinced that I was very much ill-used by somebody, or by everybody; I can’t say which.