I looked again at those hands and eyes of the housekeeper, and thought of the inexplicable feeling that had come over me when I last walked--not alone--in the ruined garden, and through the deserted brewery.

I thought how the same feeling had come back when I saw a face looking at me, and a hand waving to me from a stage-coach window; and how it had come back again and had flashed about me like lightning, when I had passed in a carriage--not alone--through a sudden glare of light in a dark street.

I thought how one link of association had helped that identification in the theatre, and how such a link, wanting before, had been riveted for me now, when I had passed by a chance swift from Estella's name to the fingers with their knitting action, and the attentive eyes.

And I felt absolutely certain that this woman was Estella's mother.
Mr.Jaggers had seen me with Estella, and was not likely to have missed the sentiments I had been at no pains to conceal.

He nodded when I said the subject was painful to me, clapped me on the back, put round the wine again, and went on with his dinner.
Only twice more did the housekeeper reappear, and then her stay in the room was very short, and Mr.Jaggers was sharp with her.