s；　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　nonte；　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　akes　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　in