"Oh, nothing—silliness. Mrs. Dadd was hateful and I've sacked her. And then those Pigs. I suppose I'm tired. That's what makes me so silly."
"Sit down a minute," he said* still holding her hand. "It's infamous that you should be worried by these old women. It's all my uncle's fault for saddling you with this house. Do sit down and tell me all about it."
"I can't," said Jane. "They are gibbering now for their hateful luggage to be carried up—it's al in the hall"; and then belatedly she pulled her hand away. But this did not improve the situation, for Mr. Rochester's arm went round her, and for one moment she let her head lean against his arm, with the most extraordinary feeling of being comforted and protected. Thus they stood, almost in the position which a couple assume when the dance begins.
"Jane," he whispered. "Jane dear."
But that broke the spell, and Jane shook herself free.
"Dearest," said Mr. Rochester not at once perceiving that the spell was broken, and he reached his hands out to her. But Jane backed towards the door.
"I don't blame you," said she, standing very upright and looking him straight in the eyes. "I brought it on myself by going about howling like a silly kid. I don't blame you, and I'll forget it if you will. But I want you to understand that I'm not at all that sort of girl. No, don't say anything," she said fiercely. "I don't blame you—this once; but I want you to understand that I'm not going to have that sort of nonsense. Not ever. Do you understand?"
"Jane," said he, " don't you believe in omens—in Fate?"
"Never mind what I believe in," said Jane, instinctively putting her hands up to her hair to ascertain whether its momentary contact with Mr. Rochester's jacket had disarranged it. "At least I'll tell you what I do believe in. I believe in attending to business and being good friends, and not being silly and sloppy. And you're not to call me Jane."
Mr. Rochester experienced all the emotions familiar to those who have been stroking a kitten and have suddenly
