returned Herbert, smiling, and clapping his hand on the back of mine — “a good fellow, with impetuosity and hesitation, boldness and diffidence, action and dreaming, curiously mixed in him.”

I stopped for a moment to consider whether there really was this mixture in my character.

On the whole, I by no means recognized the analysis, but thought it not worth disputing.

“When I ask what I am to call myself to-day, Herbert,” I went on, “I suggest what I have in my thoughts. You say I am lucky. I know I have done nothing to raise myself in life, and that Fortune alone has raised me; that is being very lucky. And yet, when I think of Estella — ”

(“And when don't you, you know?”