Weight matters

Mrs. Reed occupied her usual seat by the fireside; she made a signal to me to approach; I did so, and she introduced me to the stony stranger with the words: "This is the little girl respecting whom I applied to you."  _He_, for it was a man, turned his head slowly towards where I stood, and having examined me with the two inquisitive-looking grey eyes which twinkled under a pair of bushy brows, said solemnly, and in a bass voice, "Her size is small: what is her age?"  "Ten years."  "So much?" was the doubtful answer; and he prolonged his scrutiny for some minutes.  Presently he addressed me--"Your name, little girl?"  "Jane Eyre, sir."  In uttering these words I looked up: he seemed to me a tall gentleman; but then I was very little; his features were large, and they and all the lines of his frame were equally harsh and prim.  "Well, Jane Eyre, and are you a good child?"  Impossible to reply to this in the affirmative: my little world held a contrary opinion: I was silent.  Mrs. Reed answered for me by an expressive shake of the head, adding soon, "Perhaps the less said on that subject the better, Mr. Brocklehurst."  "Sorry indeed to hear it! she and I must have some talk;" and bending from the perpendicular, he installed his person in the arm-chair opposite Mrs. Reed's.  "Come here," he said.  I stepped across the rug; he placed me square and straight before him. What a face he had, now that it was almost on a level with mine! what a great nose! and what a mouth! and what large prominent teeth!  "No sight so sad as that of a naughty child," he began, "especially a naughty little girl.  Do you know where the wicked go after death?"  "They go to hell," was my ready and orthodox answer.  "And what is hell?  Can you tell me that?"  "A pit full of fire."  "And should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?"  "No, sir."