Jane Eyre

yet formal tone, which seemed further to express, »What the deuce is it to me whether Miss Eyre be there or not? At this moment I am not disposed to accost her.«
    I sat down quite disembarrassed. A reception of finished politeness would probably have confused me: I could not have returned or repaid it by answering grace and elegance on my part; but harsh caprice laid me under no obligation; on the contrary, a decent quiescence, under the freak of manner, gave me the advantage. Besides, the eccentricity of the proceeding was piquant: I felt interested to see how he would go on.
    He went on as a statue would: that is, he neither spoke nor moved. Mrs. Fairfax seemed to think it necessary that some one should be amiable, and she began to talk. Kindly, as usual – and, as usual, rather trite – she condoled with him on the pressure of business he had had all day; on the annoyance it must have been to him with that painful sprain: then she commended his patience and perseverance in going through with it.
    »Madam, I should like some tea,« was the sole rejoinder she got. She hastened to ring the bell; and, when the tray came, she proceeded to arrange the cups, spoons, etc., with assiduous celerity. I and Adèle went to the table; but the master did not leave his couch.
    »Will you hand Mr. Rochester's cup?« said Mrs. Fairfax to me; »Adèle might perhaps spill it.«
    I did as requested. As he took the cup from my hand, Adèle, thinking the moment propitious for making a request in my favour, cried out: –
    »N'est-ce pas, monsieur, qu'il y a un cadeau pour Mademoiselle Eyre, dans votre petit coffre?«
    »Who talks of cadeaux?« said he, gruffly: »did you expect a present, Miss Eyre? Are you fond of presents?« and he searched my face with eyes that I saw were dark, irate, and piercing.
    »I hardly know, sir; I have little experience of them: they are generally thought pleasant things.«
    »Generally thought? But what do
you
think?«
    »I should be obliged to take time, sir, before I could give you an answer worthy of your acceptance: a present has many faces to it, has it not? and one should consider all, before pronouncing an opinion as to its nature.«
    »Miss Eyre, you are not so unsophisticated as Adèle: she demands a ›cadeau,‹ clamorously, the moment she sees me: you beat about the bush.«
    »Because I have less confidence in my deserts than Adèle has: she can prefer the claim of old acquaintance, and the right too of custom; for she says you have always been in the habit of giving her playthings; but if I had to make out a case I should be puzzled, since I am a stranger and have done nothing to entitle me to an acknowledgment.«
    »Oh, don't fall back on over-modesty! I have examined Adèle, and find you have taken great pains with her: she is not bright, she has no talents; yet in a short time she has made much improvement.«
    »Sir, you have now given me my ›cadeau‹; I am obliged to you: it is the meed teachers most covet; praise of their pupils' progress.«
    »Humph!« said Mr. Rochester, and he took his tea in silence.
    »Come to the fire,« said the master, when the tray was taken away and Mrs. Fairfax had settled into a corner with her knitting; while Adèle was leading me by the hand round the room, showing me the beautiful books and ornaments on the consoles and chiffonnières. We obeyed, as in duty bound; Adèle wanted to take a seat on my knee, but she was ordered to amuse herself with Pilot.
    »You have been resident in my house three months?«
    »Yes, sir.«
    »And you came from –?«
    »From Lowood school in ––shire.«
    »Ah! a charitable concern. – How long were you there?«
    »Eight years.«
    »Eight years! you must be tenacious of life. I thought half the time in such a place would have done up any constitution! No wonder you have rather the look of another world. I marvelled where you had got that sort of face. When you came on me in Hay-Lane last night, I thought unaccountably of fairy tales, and had half a mind to demand whether you had bewitched my horse: I am not sure yet. Who are your parents?«
    »I have none.«
    »Nor ever had, I suppose: do you remember them?«
    »No.«
    »I thought not. And so you were waiting for your people when you sat on that stile?«
    »For whom, sir?«
    »For the men in green: it was a proper moonlight evening for them. Did I break through one of your rings, that you spread that damned ice on the causeway?«
    I shook my head. »The men in green