DailyJaneEyre: When I was as old as you, I was a feeling fellow–partial to the unfledged, unfostered, and unlucky; but Fortune has knocked me about since:
DailyJaneEyre: “Now, ma’am, am I a fool?” “Far from it, sir. You would, perhaps, think me rude if I inquired in return whether you are a philanthropist?”
DailyJaneEyre: “Adele showed me some sketches this morning, which she said were yours–probably a master aided you?” “No, indeed!” “Ah! that pricks pride.”
DailyJaneEyre: “What age were you when you went to Lowood?” “About ten.” “–stayed there eight years: you are now, then, eighteen?––Arithmetic–is useful;”
DailyJaneEyre: “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.
DailyJaneEyre: Mr. Rochester would be glad if you and your pupil would take tea with him–the drawing-room–six o’clock––he keeps early hours in the country.
DailyJaneEyre: “What dog is this?” “He came with master–Mr. Rochester–he is just arrived.”“Did the horse fall in Hay Lane?” “Yes–it slipped on some ice.”
DailyJaneEyre: “Excuse me–necessity compels me to make you useful.” He laid a heavy hand on my shoulder–leaning on me with some stress–limped to his horse.
DailyJaneEyre: “You are not a servant at the hall, of course. You are–” He stopped–ran his eye over my dress–which–was quite simple:” “I am the governess.”
