"His manners, I think, you said are not to your taste?--priggish and parsonic?"

     "I never mentioned his manners; but, unless I had a very bad taste, they must suit it; they are polished, calm, and gentlemanlike."

     "His appearance,--I forget what description you gave of his appearance;--a sort of raw curate, half strangled with his white neckcloth, and stilted up on his thick-soled high-lows, eh?"

     "St. John dresses well. He is a handsome man: tall, fair, with blue eyes, and a Grecian profile."

     (Aside.) "Damn him!"--(To me.) "Did you like him, Jane?"

     "Yes, Mr. Rochester, I liked him: but you asked me that before."

     I perceived, of course, the drift of my interlocutor. Jealousy had got hold of him: she stung him; but the sting was salutary: it gave him respite from the gnawing fang of melancholy. I would not, therefore, immediately charm the snake.

     "Perhaps you would rather not sit any longer on my knee, Miss Eyre?" was the next somewhat unexpected observation.