Chapter 21
"Does that person want you?” she inquired of Mr. Rochester; and Mr. Rochester turned to see who the “person” was.  He made a curious grimace—one of his strange and equivocal demonstrations—threw down his cue and followed me from the room.
Soon he produced his pocket-book: “Here,” said he, offering me a note; it was fifty pounds, and he owed me but fifteen. I told him I had no change. / “I don’t want change; you know that. Take your wages.” / I declined accepting more than was my due. He scowled at first; then, as if recollecting something, he said— /“Right, right! Better not give you all now: you would, perhaps, stay away three months if you had fifty pounds. There are ten; is it not plenty?” / “Yes, sir, but now you owe me five.” / “Come back for it, then; I am your banker for forty pounds.”
“Farewell, Miss Eyre, for the present; is that all?...It seems stingy, to my notions, and dry, and unfriendly. I should like something else: a little addition to the rite. If one shook hands, for instance; but no—that would not content me either. So you’ll do no more than say Farewell, Jane?” /“It is enough, sir: as much good-will may be conveyed in one hearty word as in many.”/ “Very likely; but it is blank and cool—‘Farewell.’”/ “How long is he going to stand with his back against that door?” I asked myself….
“Is that a portrait of some one you know?” asked Eliza, who had approached me unnoticed. I responded that it was merely a fancy head, and hurried it beneath the other sheets.  Of course, I lied: it was, in fact, a very faithful representation of Mr. Rochester. But what was that to her, or to any one but myself?  Georgiana also advanced to look. The other drawings pleased her much, but she called that “an ugly man.”