"He is untiringly active.
Great and exalted deeds are what he lives to perform."
"But his brain? That is probably rather soft?
He means well: but you shrug your shoulders to hear him talk?"
"He talks little, sir: what he does say is ever to the point.
His brain is first-rate, I should think not impressible, but vigorous."
"Is he an able man, then?"
"A thoroughly educated man?"
"St. John is an accomplished and profound scholar."
"His manners, I think, you said are not to your taste?
-- priggish and parsonic?"
"I never mentioned his manners;
but, unless I had a very bad taste, they must suit it; they are polished, calm, and gentlemanlike."
"His appearance, -- I forget what description you gave of his appearance;
-- a sort of raw curate, half strangled with his white neckcloth, and stilted up on his thick-soled high-lows, eh?"
"St. John dresses well.
He is a handsome man: tall, fair, with blue eyes, and a Grecian profile."
(Aside.) "Damn him!" -- (To me.)
"Did you like him, Jane?"
"Yes, Mr. Rochester, I liked him: but you asked me that before."
I perceived, of course, the drift of my interlocutor.
Jealousy had got hold of him: she stung him;
but the sting was salutary: it gave him respite from the gnawing fang of melancholy.
I would not, therefore, immediately charm the snake.
"Perhaps you would rather not sit any longer on my knee, Miss Eyre?"
was the next somewhat unexpected observation.
"Why not, Mr. Rochester?"