"I like it," she answered，after a pause of a second or two，during which she examined me.

"What is it about?" I continued. I hardly know where I found the hardihood thus to open a conversation with a stranger; the step was contrary to my nature and habits: but I think her occupation touched a chord of sympathy somewhere; for I too liked reading，though of a frivolous and childish kind; I could not digest or prehend the serious or substantial.

"You may look at it," replied the girl，offering me the book.

I did so; a brief examination convinced me that the contents were less taking than the title: Rasselas looked dull to my trifling taste;

I saw nothing about fairies，nothing about genii; no bright variety seemed spread over the closely-printed pages. I returned it to her;

she received it quietly，and without saying anything she was about to relapse into her former studious mood: again I ventured to disturb her-

"Can you tell me what the writing on that stone over the door means? What is Lowood Institution?"

"This house where you are e to live."

"And why do they call it Institution? Is it in any way different from other schools?"

"It is partly a charity-school: you and I，and all the rest of us，are charity-children. I suppose you are an orphan: are not either your father or your mother dead?"

"Both died before I can remember."

"Well，all the girls here have lost either one or both parents，and this is called an institution for educating orphans."

"Do we pay no money? Do they keep us for nothing?"