Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked

different to what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern--

much less gloomy. There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes

sparkled, whether with wine or not, I am not sure; but I think it

very probable. He was, in short, in his after-dinner mood; more

expanded and genial, and also more self-indulgent than the frigid

and rigid temper of the morning; still he looked preciously grim,

cushioning his massive head against the swelling back of his chair,

and receiving the light of the fire on his granite-hewn features,

and in his great, dark eyes; for he had great, dark eyes, and very

fine eyes, too--not without a certain change in their depths

sometimes, which, if it was not softness, reminded you, at least, of

that feeling.

He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been looking

the same length of time at him, when, turning suddenly, he caught my

gaze fastened on his physiognomy.

"You examine me, Miss Eyre," said he: "do you think me handsome?"

I should, if I had deliberated, have replied to this question by

something conventionally vague and polite; but the answer somehow

slipped from my tongue before I was aware--"No, sir."

"Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you," said he:

"you have the air of a little nonnette; quaint, quiet, grave, and

simple, as you sit with your hands before you, and your eyes

generally bent on the carpet (except, by-the-bye, when they are

directed piercingly to my face; as just now, for instance); and when

one asks you a question, or makes a remark to which you are obliged

to reply, you rap out a round rejoinder, which, if not blunt, is at

least brusque. What do you mean by it?"

"Sir, I was too plain; I beg your pardon. I ought to have replied

that it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question about

appearances; that tastes mostly differ; and that beauty is of little

consequence, or something of that sort."

"You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty of little

consequence, indeed! And so, under pretence of softening the

previous outrage, of stroking and soothing me into placidity, you

stick a sly penknife under my ear! Go on: what fault do you find

with me, pray? I suppose I have all my limbs and all my features

like any other man?"

"Mr. Rochester, allow me to disown my first answer: I intended no

pointed repartee: it was only a blunder."




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