Both ladies, as I advanced, rose to welcome me, and both addressed me by the name of “Miss Eyre.”  Eliza’s greeting was delivered in a short, abrupt voice, without a smile; and then she sat down again, fixed her eyes on the fire, and seemed to forget me.  Georgiana added to her “How d’ye do?” several commonplaces about my journey, the weather, and so on, uttered in rather a drawling tone:  and accompanied by sundry side-glances that measured me from head to foot —­ now traversing the folds of my drab merino pelisse, and now lingering on the plain trimming of my cottage bonnet.  Young ladies have a remarkable way of letting you know that they think you a “quiz” without actually saying the words.  A certain superciliousness of look, coolness of manner, nonchalance of tone, express fully their sentiments on the point, without committing them by any positive rudeness in word or deed.

A sneer, however, whether covert or open, had now no longer that power over me it once possessed:  as I sat between my cousins, I was surprised to find how easy I felt under the total neglect of the one and the semi-sarcastic attentions of the other —­ Eliza did not mortify, nor Georgiana ruffle me.  The fact was, I had other things to think about; within the last few months feelings had been stirred in me so much more potent than any they could raise —­ pains and pleasures so much more acute and exquisite had been excited than any it was in their power to inflict or bestow —­ that their airs gave me no concern either for good or bad.

“How is Mrs. Reed?” I asked soon, looking calmly at Georgiana, who thought fit to bridle at the direct address, as if it were an unexpected liberty.

“Mrs. Reed?  Ah! mama, you mean; she is extremely poorly:  I doubt if you can see her to-night.”

“If,” said I, “you would just step upstairs and tell her I am come, I should be much obliged to you.”

Georgiana almost started, and she opened her blue eyes wild and wide.  “I know she had a particular wish to see me,” I added, “and I would not defer attending to her desire longer than is absolutely necessary.”

“Mama dislikes being disturbed in an evening,” remarked Eliza.  I soon rose, quietly took off my bonnet and gloves, uninvited, and said I would just step out to Bessie —­ who was, I dared say, in the kitchen —­ and ask her to ascertain whether Mrs. Reed was disposed to receive me or not to-night.  I went, and having found Bessie and despatched her on my errand, I proceeded to take further measures.  It had heretofore been my habit always to shrink from arrogance:  received as I had been to-day, I should, a year ago, have resolved to quit Gateshead the very next morning; now, it was disclosed to me all at once that that would be a foolish plan.  I had taken a journey of a hundred miles to see my aunt, and I must stay with her till she was better —­ or dead:  as to her daughters’ pride or folly, I must put it on one side, make myself independent of it.  So I addressed the housekeeper; asked her to show me a room, told her I should probably be a visitor here for a week or two, had my trunk conveyed to my chamber, and followed it thither myself:  I met Bessie on the landing.