Jane Eyre

in that line, away with you, sir, to the bazars of Stamboul without delay; and lay out in extensive slave-purchases some of that spare cash you seem at a loss to spend satisfactorily here.«
    »And what will you do, Janet, while I am bargaining for so many tons of flesh and such an assortment of black eyes?«
    »I'll be preparing myself to go out as a missionary to preach liberty to them that are enslaved – your harem inmates amongst the rest. I'll get admitted there, and I'll stir up mutiny; and you, three-tailed bashaw as you are, sir, shall in a trice find yourself fettered amongst our hands: nor will I, for one, consent to cut your bonds till you have signed a charter, the most liberal that despot ever yet conferred.«
    »I would consent to be at your mercy, Jane.«
    »I would have no mercy, Mr. Rochester, if you supplicated for it with an eye like that. While you looked so, I should be certain that whatever charter you might grant under coercion, your first act, when released, would be to violate its conditions.«
    »Why, Jane, what would you have? I fear you will compel me to go through a private marriage ceremony, besides that performed at the altar. You will stipulate, I see, for peculiar terms – what will they be?«
    »I only want an easy mind, sir; not crushed by crowded obligations. Do you remember what you said of Céline Varens? – of the diamonds, the cashmeres you gave her? I will not be your English Céline Varens. I shall continue to act as Adèle's governess: by that I shall earn my board and lodging, and thirty pounds a year besides. I'll furnish my own wardrobe out of that money, and you shall give me nothing but –«
    »Well, but what?«
    »Your regard: and if I give you mine in return, that debt will be quit.«
    »Well, for cool native impudence, and pure innate pride, you haven't your equal,« said he. We were now approaching Thornfield. »Will it please you to dine with me to-day?« he asked, as we re-entered the gates.
    »No, thank you, sir.«
    »And what for, ›no, thank you‹? if one may inquire.«
    »I never have dined with you, sir: and I see no reason why I should now: till –«
    »Till what? You delight in half phrases.«
    »Till I can't help it.«
    »Do you suppose I eat like an ogre, or a ghoul, that you dread being the companion of my repast?«
    »I have formed no supposition on the subject, sir; but I want to go on as usual for another month.«
    »You will give up your governessing slavery at once.«
    »Indeed! begging your pardon, sir, I shall not. I shall just go on with it as usual. I shall keep out of your way all day, as I have been accustomed to do: you may send for me in the evening, when you feel disposed to see me, and I'll come then; but at no other time.«
    »I want a smoke, Jane, or a pinch of snuff, to comfort me under all this ›pour me donner une contenance,‹ as Adèle would say; and unfortunately I have neither my cigar-case, nor my snuff-box. But listen – whisper – it is your time now, little tyrant, but it will be mine presently: and when once I have fairly seized you, to have and to hold, I'll just – figuratively speaking – attach you to a chain like this« (touching his watch-guard). »Yes, bonny wee thing, I'll wear you in my bosom, lest my jewel I should tyne.«
    He said this as he helped me to alight from the carriage; and while he afterwards lifted out Adèle, I entered the house, and made good my retreat up stairs.
    He duly summoned me to his presence in the evening. I had prepared an occupation for him; for I was determined not to spend the whole time in a
tête-à-tête
conversation; I remembered his fine voice; I knew he liked to sing – good singers generally do. I was no vocalist myself, and in his fastidious judgment, no musician, either; but I delighted in listening when the performance was good. No sooner had twilight, that hour of romance, begun to lower her blue and starry banner over the lattice, than I rose, opened the piano, and entreated him, for the love of heaven, to give me a song. He said I was a capricious witch, and that he would rather sing another time; but I averred that no time was like the present.
    »Did I like his voice?« he asked.
    »Very much.« I was not fond of pampering that susceptible vanity of his; but for once, and from motives of expediency, I would e'en soothe and stimulate it.
    »Then, Jane, you must play the accompaniment.«
    »Very well, sir, I will try.«
    I did try, but was presently swept off