looked at her and thought about it all, it occurred to me that perhaps
I had not been sufficiently grateful to Biddy. I might have been too
reserved, and should have patronized her more (though I did not use that
precise word in my meditations) with my confidence.

"Yes, Biddy," I observed, when I had done turning it over, "you were my
first teacher, and that at a time when we little thought of ever being
together like this, in this kitchen."

"Ah, poor thing!" replied Biddy. It was like her self-forgetfulness to
transfer the remark to my sister, and to get up and be busy about her,
making her more comfortable; "that's sadly true!"

"Well!" said I, "we must talk together a little more, as we used to do.
And I must consult you a little more, as I used to do. Let us have a
quiet walk on the marshes next Sunday, Biddy, and a long chat."

My sister was never left alone now; but Joe more than readily undertook
the care of her on that Sunday afternoon, and Biddy and I went out
together. It was summer-time, and lovely weather. When we had passed the
village and the church and the churchyard, and were out on the marshes
and began to see the sails of the ships as they sailed on, I began to
combine Miss Havisham and Estella with the prospect, in my usual way.
When we came to the river-side and sat down on the bank, with the water
rippling at our feet, making it all more quiet than it would have been
without that sound, I resolved that it was a good time and place for the
admission of Biddy into my inner confidence.

"Biddy," said I, after binding her to secrecy, "I want to be a
gentleman."

"O, I wouldn't, if I was you!" she returned. "I don't think it would
answer."

"Biddy," said I, with some severity, "I have particular reasons for
wanting to be a gentleman."

"You know best, Pip; but don't you think you are happier as you are?"

"Biddy," I exclaimed, impatiently, "I am not at all happy as I am. I
am disgusted with my calling and with my life. I have never taken to
either, since I was bound. Don't be absurd."

"Was I absurd?" said Biddy, quietly raising her eyebrows; "I am sorry
for that; I didn't mean to be. I only want you to do well, and to be
comfortable."

"Well, then, understand once for all that I never shall or can be
comfortable--or anything but miserable--there, Biddy!--unless I can lead
a very different sort of life from the life I lead now."

"That's a pity!" said Biddy, shaking her head with a sorrow