to　placidity；　you　stick　a　sly　penknife　under　my　ear！　Go　on：　what　fault　do　you　find　with　me；　pray？　I　suppose　I　have　all　my　limbs　and　all　my　features　like　any　other　man？”

“Mr。　Rochester；　allow　me　to　disown　my　first　answer：　I　intended　no　pointed　repartee：　it　was　only　a　blunder。”

“Just　so：　I　think　so：　and　you　shall　be　answerable　for　it。　Criticise　me：　does　my　forehead　not　please　you？”

He　lifted　up　the　sable　waves　of　hair　which　lay　horizontally　over　his　brow；　and　showed　a　solid　enough　mass　of　intellectual　organs；　but　an　abrupt　deficiency　where　the　suave　sign　of　benevolence　should　have　risen。

“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？”

“There　again！　Another　stick　of　the　penknife；　when　she　pretended　to　pat　my　head：　and　that　is　because　I　said　I　did　not　like　the　society　of　children　and　old　women　（low　be　it　spoken！）。　No；　young　lady；　I　am　not　a　general　philanthropist；　but　I　bear　a　conscience；”　and　he　pointed　to　the　prominences　which　are　said　to　indicate　that　faculty；　and　which；　fortunately　for　him；　were　sufficiently　conspicuous；　giving；　indeed；　a　marked　breadth　to　the　upper　part　of　his　head：　“and；　besides；　I　once　had　a　kind　of　rude　tenderness　of　heart。　When　I　was　as　old　as　you；　I　was　a　feeling　fellow　enough；　partial　to　the　unfledged；　unfostered；　and　unlucky；　but　Fortune　has　knocked　me　about　since：　she　has　even　kneaded　me　with　her　knuckles；　and　now　I　fla