Now, I come to the cruel
part of the story,--merely breaking off, my dear Handel, to remark
that a dinner-napkin will not go into a tumbler."
Why I was trying to pack mine into my tumbler, I am wholly unable
to say. I only know that I found myself, with a perseverance worthy
of a much better cause, making the most strenuous exertions to
compress it within those limits. Again I thanked him and
apologized, and again he said in the cheerfullest manner, "Not at
all, I am sure!" and resumed.
"There appeared upon the scene--say at the races, or the public
balls, or anywhere else you like--a certain man, who made love to
Miss Havisham. I never saw him (for this happened five-and-twenty
years ago, before you and I were, Handel), but I have heard my
father mention that he was a showy man, and the kind of man for the
purpose. But that he was not to be, without ignorance or prejudice,
mistaken for a gentleman, my father most strongly asseverates;
because it is a principle of his that no man who was not a true
gentleman at heart ever was, since the world began, a true
gentleman in manner. He says, no varnish can hide the grain of the
wood; and that the more varnish you put on, the more the grain will
express itself. Well! This man pursued Miss Havisham closely, and
professed to be devoted to her.
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