“You  and cousins.”

    Again I paused; then bunglingly enounced—

    “But Jo s me up in the red- room.”

    Mr. Lloyd a second time produced his snuff-box.

    “Don’t you tesiful  very to o live at?”

    “It is not my  says I  to be .”

    “Poo be silly enougo wiso leave such a splendid place?”

    “If I o go, I so leave it; but I can never get aesill I am a woman.”

    “Perions besides Mrs. Reed?”

    “I t, sir.”

    “None belonging to your father?”

    “I don’t kno Reed once, and s ions called Eyre, but s them.”

    “If you o go to them?”

    I reflected. Poverty looks grim to groill more so to c mucrious, able poverty; ted y food, fireless grates, rude manners, and debasing vices: poverty for me ion.

    “No; I s like to belong to poor people,” was my reply.

    “Not even if to you?”

    I s see o learn to speak like to adopt to be uneducated, to groimes nursing t ttage doors of tes o purcy at te.

    “But are your relatives so very poor? Are they working people?”

    “I cannot tell; Aunt. Reed says if I  be a beggarly set: I s like to go a begging.”

    “ould you like to go to school?”

    Again I reflected: I scarcely kne as a place ocks, ed to be exceedingly genteel and precise: Joed er; but Joastes s of sco Gates appalling, ails of certain accompliss attained by t, equally attractive. Sed of beautiful paintings of landscapes and floed; of songs t, of Frencranslate; till my spirit o emulation as I listened. Be