I may be, or where I may go. Still, I love you. I have loved you ever since I first saw you in this house."
Looking at me perfectly unmoved and with her fingers busy, she shook her head again.
"It would have been cruel in Miss Havisham, horribly cruel, to practise on the susceptibility of a poor boy, and to torture me through all these years with a vain hope and an idle pursuit, if she had reflected on the gravity of what she did. But I think she did not. I think that in the endurance of her own trial, she forgot mine, Estella."
I saw Miss Havisham put her hand to her heart and hold it there, as she sat looking by turns at Estella and at me.
"It seems," said Estella, very calmly, "that there are sentiments, fancies—I don't know how to call them—which I am not able to comprehend. When you say you love me, I know what you mean, as a form of word; but nothing more. You address nothing in my breast, you touch nothing there. I don't care for what you say at all. I have tried to warn you of this; now, have I not?"
I said in a miserable manner, "Yes."
"Yes. But you would not be warned, for you thought I did not mean it. Now, did you not think so?"
"I thought and hoped you could not mean it. You, so young, untried, and beautiful, Estella! Surely it is not in Nature."
"It is in my nature," she returned. And then she added, with a stress upon the words, "It is in the nature formed within me. I make a great difference between you and all other people when I say so much. I can do no more."
"Is it not true," said I, "that Bentley Drummle is in town here, and pursuing you?"
"It is quite true," she replied, referring to him with the indifference of utter contempt.
"That you encourage him, and ride out with him, and that he dines with you this very day?"
She seemed a little surprised that I should know it, but again replied, "Quite true."
"You cannot love him, Estella?"
