“Materialism is an easy faith and a safe one,” he said. “Imagination is very distorting.”
“For you who feel like that,” she answered, “the way through life is simple enough. We others can only pity.”
“Comtesse,” Rochester said, “such an attitude is perfectly reasonable. It is only when you attempt to convert that we are obliged to fall back upon our readiest weapons.”
“You are one of those,” she said, looking at him keenly, “who do not wish to understand more than you understand at present, who have no desire to gain the knowledge of hidden things.”
“You are right, Comtesse,” Rochester answered, with a smile. “I am one of those pig-headed individuals.”
“It is the Saxon race,” she muttered, “who have kept back the progress of the world for centuries.”
“We have kept it backward, perhaps,” he answered, “but wholesome.”
“You think always of your bodies,” she said.
“They were entrusted to us, madam, to look after,” he answered.
She smiled grimly.