He offered these friendly suggestions in such a lively way, that we both laughed and I scarcely blushed.

     "Now," he pursued, "concerning Miss Havisham. Miss Havisham, you must know, was a spoilt child. Her mother died when she was a baby, and her father denied her nothing. Her father was a country gentleman down in your part of the world, and was a brewer. I don't know why it should be a crack thing to be a brewer; but it is indisputable that while you cannot possibly be genteel and bake, you may be as genteel as never was and brew. You see it every day."

     "Yet a gentleman may not keep a public-house; may he?" said I.

     "Not on any account," returned Herbert; "but a public-house may keep a gentleman. Well! Mr. Havisham was very rich and very proud. So was his daughter."

     "Miss Havisham was an only child?" I hazarded.

     "Stop a moment, I am coming to that. No, she was not an only child; she had a half-brother. Her father privately married again--his cook, I rather think."

     "I thought he was proud," said I.