"A little."

"Of course: that is the established answer. Go into the library- I mean，if you please.- (Excuse my tone of mand; I am used to say，"Do this," and it is done: I cannot alter my customary habits for one new inmate.)- Go，then，into the library; take a candle with you; leave the door open; sit down to the piano，and play a tune."

I departed，obeying his directions.

"Enough!" he called out in a few minutes. "You play a little，I see; like any other English school-girl; perhaps rather better than some，but not well."

I closed the piano and returned. Mr. Rochester continued- "Adele showed me some sketches this morning，which she said were yours. I don"t know whether they were entirely of your doing; probably a master aided you?"

"No，indeed!" I interjected.

"Ah! that pricks pride. Well，fetch me your portfolio，if you can vouch for its contents being original; but don"t pass your word unless you are certain: I can recognise patchwork."

"Then I will say nothing，and you shall judge for yourself，sir." I brought the portfolio from the library.

"Approach the table," said he; and I wheeled it to his couch. Adele and Mrs. Fairfax drew near to see the pictures.

"No crowding," said Mr. Rochester: "take the drawings from my hand as I finish with them; but don"t push your faces up to mine."

He deliberately scrutinised each sketch and painting. Three he laid aside; the others，when he had examined them，he swept from him.