Chapter 14
“Is Miss Eyre there?” now demanded the master, half rising from his seat to look round to the door, near which I still stood.  / “Ah! well, come forward; be seated here.”
“Speak,” he urged. / “What about, sir?” / “Whatever you like....” / Accordingly I sat and said nothing: “If he expects me to talk for the mere sake of talking and showing off, he will find he has addressed himself to the wrong person,” I thought. / “You are dumb, Miss Eyre.” / I was dumb still.  He bent his head a little towards me, and with a single hasty glance seemed to dive into my eyes.
"Do you never laugh, Miss Eyre? Don’t trouble yourself to answer—I see you laugh rarely; but you can laugh very merrily: believe me, you are not naturally austere, any more than I am naturally vicious. The Lowood constraint still clings to you somewhat; controlling your features, muffling your voice, and restricting your limbs; and you fear in the presence of a man and a brother—or father, or master, or what you will—to smile too gaily, speak too freely, or move too quickly: but, in time, I think you will learn to be natural with me, as I find it impossible to be conventional with you; and then your looks and movements will have more vivacity and variety than they dare offer now. I see at intervals the glance of a curious sort of bird through the close-set bars of a cage: a vivid, restless, resolute captive is there; were it but free, it would soar cloud-high….”