"Of course, that is the established answer. Go into the library—I mean, if you please.—(Excuse my tone of command; I am used to say, 'Do this,' and it is done. I cannot alter my customary habits for one new inmate.)—Go, then, into the library; take a candle with you; leave the door open; sit down to the piano, and play a tune."
I departed, obeying his directions.
"Enough!" he called out in a few minutes. "You play a little, I see, like any other English school-girl; perhaps rather better than some, but not well."
I closed the piano, and returned. Mr Rochester continued—
{154} "Adèle showed me some sketches this morning, which, she said, were yours. I don't know whether they were entirely of your doing: probably a master aided you?"
"No, indeed!" I interjected.
"Ah! that pricks pride. Well, fetch me your portfolio, if you can vouch for its contents being original; but don't pass your word unless you are certain: I can recognise patchwork."
"Then I will say nothing, and you shall judge for yourself, sir."
I brought the portfolio from the library.
"Approach the table," said he; and I wheeled it to his couch. Adèle and Mrs Fairfax drew near to see the pictures.