“I feel so astonished,” she began, “I hardly know what to say to you, Miss Eyre.  I have surely not been dreaming, have I?  Sometimes I half fall asleep when I am sitting alone and fancy things that have never happened.  It has seemed to me more than once when I have been in a doze, that my dear husband, who died fifteen years since, has come in and sat down beside me; and that I have even heard him call me by my name, Alice, as he used to do.  Now, can you tell me whether it is actually true that Mr. Rochester has asked you to marry him?  Don’t laugh at me.  But I really thought he came in here five minutes ago, and said that in a month you would be his wife.”

“He has said the same thing to me,” I replied.

“He has!  Do you believe him?  Have you accepted him?”

“Yes.”

She looked at me bewildered.  “I could never have thought it.  He is a proud man:  all the Rochesters were proud:  and his father, at least, liked money.  He, too, has always been called careful.  He means to marry you?”

“He tells me so.”

She surveyed my whole person:  in her eyes I read that they had there found no charm powerful enough to solve the enigma.

“It passes me!” she continued; “but no doubt, it is true since you say so.  How it will answer, I cannot tell:  I really don’t know.  Equality of position and fortune is often advisable in such cases; and there are twenty years of difference in your ages.  He might almost be your father.”

“No, indeed, Mrs. Fairfax!” exclaimed I, nettled; “he is nothing like my father!  No one, who saw us together, would suppose it for an instant.  Mr. Rochester looks as young, and is as young, as some men at five-and-twenty.”

“Is it really for love he is going to marry you?” she asked.

I was so hurt by her coldness and scepticism, that the tears rose to my eyes.

“I am sorry to grieve you,” pursued the widow; “but you are so young, and so little acquainted with men, I wished to put you on your guard.  It is an old saying that ’all is not gold that glitters;’ and in this case I do fear there will be something found to be different to what either you or I expect.”

“Why? —­ am I a monster?” I said:  “is it impossible that Mr. Rochester should have a sincere affection for me?”

“No:  you are very well; and much improved of late; and Mr. Rochester, I daresay, is fond of you.  I have always noticed that you were a sort of pet of his.  There are times when, for your sake, I have been a little uneasy at his marked preference, and have wished to put you on your guard:  but I did not like to suggest even the possibility of wrong.  I knew such an idea would shock, perhaps offend you; and you were so discreet, and so thoroughly modest and sensible, I hoped you might be trusted to protect yourself.  Last night I cannot tell you what I suffered when I sought all over the house, and could find you nowhere, nor the master either; and then, at twelve o’clock, saw you come in with him.”