dressing-table, and looked round at us immediately.
“Oh!” said she to Joe. “You are the husband of the sister of this boy?”
I could hardly have imagined dear old Joe looking so unlike himself or so like some extraordinary bird; standing as he did speechless, with his tuft of feathers ruffled, and his mouth open as if he wanted a worm.
“You are the husband,” repeated Miss Havisham, “of the sister of this boy?”
It was very aggravating; but, throughout the interview, Joe persisted in addressing Me instead of Miss Havisham.
“Which I meantersay, Pip,” Joe now observed in a manner that was at once expressive of forcible argumentation, strict confidence, and great politeness,