a sudden
glare of light in a dark street. I thought how one link of association
had helped that identification in the theatre, and how such a link,
wanting before, had been riveted for me now, when I had passed by a
chance swift from Estella's name to the fingers with their knitting
action, and the attentive eyes. And I felt absolutely certain that this
woman was Estella's mother.

Mr. Jaggers had seen me with Estella, and was not likely to have missed
the sentiments I had been at no pains to conceal. He nodded when I said
the subject was painful to me, clapped me on the back, put round the
wine again, and went on with his dinner.

Only twice more did the housekeeper reappear, and then her stay in the
room was very short, and Mr. Jaggers was sharp with her. But her hands
were Estella's hands, and her eyes were Estella's eyes, and if she had
reappeared a hundred times I could have been neither more sure nor less
sure that my conviction was the truth.

It was a dull evening, for Wemmick drew his wine, when it came round,
quite as a matter of business,--just as he might have drawn his salary
when that came round,--and with his eyes on his chief, sat in a state of
perpetual readiness for cross-examination. As to the quantity of wine,
his post-office was as indifferent and ready as any other post-office
for its quantity of letters. From my point of view, he was the wrong
twin all the time, and only externally like the Wemmick of Walworth.

We took our leave early, and left together. Even when we were groping
among Mr. Jaggers's stock of boots for our hats, I felt that the right
twin was on his way back; and we had not gone half a dozen yards down
Gerrard Street in the Walworth direction, before I found that I was
walking arm in arm with the right twin, and that the wrong twin had
evaporated into the evening air.

"Well!" said Wemmick, "that's over! He's a wonderful man, without his
living likeness; but I feel that I have to screw myself up when I dine
with him,--and I dine more comfortably unscrewed."

I felt that this was a good statement of the case, and told him so.

"Wouldn't say it to anybody but yourself," he answered. "I know that
what is said between you and me goes no further."

I asked him if he had ever seen Miss Havisham's adopted daughter, Mrs.
Bentley Drummle. He said no. To avoid being too abrupt, I then spoke
of the Aged and of Miss Skiffins. He looked rather sly when I mentioned
Miss Skiffins, and s