"What's that?" I asked, with sudden gravity.

He was arranging his fruit in plates while we talked, which divided his
attention, and was the cause of his having made this lapse of a word.
"Affianced," he explained, still busy with the fruit. "Betrothed.
Engaged. What's-his-named. Any word of that sort."

"How did you bear your disappointment?" I asked.

"Pooh!" said he, "I didn't care much for it. She's a Tartar."

"Miss Havisham?"

"I don't say no to that, but I meant Estella. That girl's hard and
haughty and capricious to the last degree, and has been brought up by
Miss Havisham to wreak revenge on all the male sex."

"What relation is she to Miss Havisham?"

"None," said he. "Only adopted."

"Why should she wreak revenge on all the male sex? What revenge?"

"Lord, Mr. Pip!" said he. "Don't you know?"

"No," said I.

"Dear me! It's quite a story, and shall be saved till dinner-time. And
now let me take the liberty of asking you a question. How did you come
there, that day?"

I told him, and he was attentive until I had finished, and then burst
out laughing again, and asked me if I was sore afterwards? I didn't
ask him if he was, for my conviction on that point was perfectly
established.