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1Curious to know whether Biddy suspected him of having had a hand in that murderous attack of which my sister had never
2been able to give any account, I asked her why she did not like him. "Oh!" she replied, glancing over her shoulder as he
3slouched after us, "because I--I am afraid he likes me." "Did he ever tell you he liked you?" I asked indignantly. "No,"
4said Biddy, glancing over her shoulder again, "he never told me so; but he dances at me, whenever he can catch my eye."
5However novel and peculiar this testimony of attachment, I did not doubt the accuracy of the interpretation. I was very
6hot indeed upon Old Orlick's daring to admire her; as hot as if it were an outrage on myself. "But it makes no
7difference to you, you know," said Biddy, calmly. "No, Biddy, it makes no difference to me; only I don't like it; I
8don't approve of it." "Nor I neither," said Biddy. "Though that makes no difference to you." "Exactly," said I; "but I
9must tell you I should have no opinion of you, Biddy, if he danced at you with your own consent." I kept an eye on
10Orlick after that night, and, whenever circumstances were favourable to his dancing at Biddy, got before him to obscure
11that demonstration. He had struck root in Joe's establishment, by reason of my sister's sudden fancy for him, or I
12should have tried to get him dismissed. He quite understood and reciprocated my good intentions, as I had reason to know
13thereafter. And now, because my mind was not confused enough before, I complicated its confusion fifty thousand-fold, by
14having states and seasons when I was clear that Biddy was immeasurably better than Estella, and that the plain honest
15working life to which I was born had nothing in it to be ashamed of, but offered me sufficient means of self-respect and
16happiness. At those times, I would decide conclusively that my disaffection to dear old Joe and the forge was gone, and
17that I was growing up in a fair way to be partners with Joe and to keep company with Biddy,--when all in a moment some
18confounding remembrance of the Havisham days would fall upon me like a destructive missile, and scatter my wits again.
19Scattered wits take a long time picking up; and often before I had got them well together, they would be dispersed in
20all directions by one stray thought, that perhaps after all Miss Havisham was going to make my fortune when my time was
21out. If my time had run out, it would have left me still at the height of my perplexities, I dare say. It never did run
22out, however, but was brought to a premature end, as I proceed to relate.
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