"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 into 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 flatter myself I am hard and tough as an India-rubber ball; pervious，though，through a chink or two still，and with one sentient point in the middle of the lump. Yes: does that leave hope for me?"

"Hope of what，sir?"