In an arm chair sat the strangest lady I have ever seen or shall ever see. She was dressed in rich white--in satin and lace and silks--all of white. Even her shoes were white, and she had a long white veil dependent from her hair, and bridal flowers in her hair,--and the hair, too, was white. Some bright jewels sparkled on her neck and hands and others lay sparkling on the table. Dresses, less splendid than the one she wore, and half-packed trunks, were scattered about. She had but one shoe on and the other was on the table near by--her veil was but half arranged; her watch and chain were not put on; and there were lace, trinkets, handkerchief, gloves, some flowers, and a Prayer-book in a heap before the looking-glass. Then she spoke, "Who is it?"
"Mr. Pumblechook's boy, ma'am. Come--to play."
"Come nearer; let me look at you. Come close."
When I stood before her, avoiding her eyes, I took in all the details of the room and saw that her watch and clock had both stopped.
"Look at me," said Miss Havisham. "You are not afraid of a woman who has not seen the sun since you were born?"
I regret to say that I was not afraid of telling the enormous lie comprehended in the answer, "No."
"Do you know what I touch here?" she said, laying her hands on her left side.
She said the word eagerly, and with a weird smile that had a kind of boast in it.
"I am tired," said Miss Havisham. "I have a sick fancy that I want to see some play. I want diversion, and I have done with men and women. There, there," with an impatient movement of the fingers of her right hand, "play, play, play!"
For a moment, with the fear of my sister "working me" before my eyes, I had a desperate idea of starting round the room in the assumed character of Mr. Pumblechook's chaise cart. But I felt so unequal to the performance that I gave it up, and stood looking at Miss Havisham in what I suppose she took for a dogged manner, and presently she said:
"No, ma'am," I said. "I am very sorry for you and very sorry I can't play just now. If you complain of me, I shall get into trouble with my sister, so I would do it, if I could, but it's new here, and so strange and so fine, and--melancholy." I stopped, fearing I might have said too much, and we took another look at each other. Before she spoke again, she looked at herself in the glass, then she turned, and flashing a look at me, said, "Call Estella. You can do that. Call Estella. At the door."