“Stubborn？” he said， “and annoyed. Ah！ it is consistent. I put my request in an absurd， almost insolent form. Miss Eyre， I beg your pardon. The fact is， once for all， I don’t wish to treat you like an inferior： that is” (correcting himself)， “I claim only such superiority as must result from twenty years’ difference in age and a century’s advance in experience. This is legitimate， et j’y tiens， as Adèle would say； and it is by virtue of this superiority， and this alone， that I desire you to have the goodness to talk to me a little now， and divert my thoughts， which are galled with dwelling on one point—cankering as a rusty nail.” He had deigned an explanation， almost an apology， and I did not feel insensible to his condescension， and would not seem so.
“I am willing to amuse you， if I can， sir—quite willing； but I cannot introduce a topic， because how do I know what will interest you？ Ask me questions， and I will do my best to answer them.”
“Then， in the first place， do you agree with me that I have a right to be a little masterful， abrupt， perhaps exacting， sometimes， on the grounds I stated， namely， that I am old enough to be your father， and that I have battled through a varied experience with many men of many nations， and roamed over half the globe， while you have lived quietly with one set of people in one house？”
“Do as you please， sir.”
“That is no answer； or rather it is a very irritating， because a very evasive one. Reply clearly.”
“I don’t think， sir， you have a right to command me， merely because you are older than I， or because you have seen more of the world than I have； your claim to superiority depends on the use you have made of your time and experience.”
“Humph！ Promptly spoken. But I won’t allow that， seeing that it would never suit my case， as I have made an indifferent， not to say a bad， use of both advantages. Leaving superiority out of the question， then， you must still agree to receive my orders now and then， without being piqued or hurt by the tone of command. Will you？”
I smiled： I thought to myself Mr. Rochester is peculiar—he seems to forget that he pays me 30 pounds per annum for receiving his orders.
“The smile is very well，” said he， catching instantly the passing expression；“but speak too.”
“I was thinking， sir， that very few masters would trouble themselves to inquire whether or not their paid subordinates were piqued and hurt by their orders.”
“Paid subordinates！ What！ you are my paid subordinate， are you？ Oh yes， I had forgotten the salary！ Well then， on that mercenary ground， will you agree to let me hector a little？”
“No， sir， not on that ground； but， on the ground that you did forget it， and that you care whether or not a dependent is comfortable in his dependency， I agree heartily.”
“And will you consent to dispense with a great many conventional forms and phrases， without thinking that the omission arises from insolence？”
“I am sure， sir， I should never mistake informality for insolence：one I rather like， the other nothing free-born would submit to， even for a salary.”
“Humbug！ Most things free-born will submit to anything for a salary； therefore， keep to yourself， and don’t venture on generalities of which you are intensely ignorant. However， I mentally shake hands with you for your answer， despite its inaccuracy； and as much for the manner in which it was said， as for the substance of the speech； the manner was frank and sincere； one does not often see such a manner： no， on the contrary， affectation， or coldness， or stupid， coarse-minded misapprehension of one’s meaning are the usual rewards of candour. Not three in three thousand raw school-girl governesses would have answered me as you have just done. But I don’t mean to flatter you： if you are cast in a different mould to the majority， it is no merit of yours： Nature did it. And then， after all， I go too fast in my conclusions： for what I yet know， you may be no better than the rest； you may have intolerable defects to counterbalance your few good points.”
“And so may you，” I thought. My eye met his as the idea crossed my mind： he seemed to read the glance， answering as if its import had been spoken as well as imagined—
“Yes， yes， you are right，” said he；“I have plenty of faults of myown： I know it， and I don’t wish to palliate them， I assure you. God wot I need not be too severe about others； I have a past existence， a series of deeds， a colour of life to contemplate within my own breast， which might well call my sneers and censures from my neighbours to myself. I started， or rather (for like other defaulters， I like to lay half the blame on ill fortune and adverse circumstances) was thrust on to a wrong tack at the age of one-and-twenty， and have never recovered the right course since： but I might have been very different； I might have been as good as you—wiser—almost as stainless. I envy you your peace of mind， your clean conscience， your unpolluted memory. Little girl， a memory without blot or contamination must be an exquisite treasure—an inexhaustible source of pure refreshment： is it not？”
“How was your memory when you were eighteen， sir？”