d her, of course, with special interest. First, I wished to see
whether her appearance accorded with Mrs. Fairfax's description;
secondly, whether it at all resembled the fancy miniature I had painted
of her; and thirdly--it will out!--whether it were such as I should fancy
likely to suit Mr. Rochester's taste.

As far as person went, she answered point for point, both to my picture
and Mrs. Fairfax's description. The noble bust, the sloping shoulders,
the graceful neck, the dark eyes and black ringlets were all there;--but
her face? Her face was like her mother's; a youthful unfurrowed
likeness: the same low brow, the same high features, the same pride. It
was not, however, so saturnine a pride! she laughed continually; her
laugh was satirical, and so was the habitual expression of her arched and
haughty lip.

Genius is said to be self-conscious. I cannot tell whether Miss Ingram
was a genius, but she was self-conscious--remarkably self-conscious
indeed. She entered into a discourse on botany with the gentle Mrs.
Dent. It seemed Mrs. Dent had not studied that science: though, as she
said, she liked flowers, "especially wild ones;" Miss Ingram had, and she
ran over its vocabulary with an air. I presently perceived she was (what
is vernacularly termed) _trailing_ Mrs. Dent; that is, playing on her
ignorance--her _trail_ might be clever, but it was decidedly not good-
natured. She played: her execution was brilliant; she sang: her voice
was fine; she talked French apart to her mamma; and she talked it well,
with fluency and with a good accent.

Mary had a milder and more open countenance than Blanche; softer features
too, and a skin some shades fairer (Miss Ingram was dark as a
Spaniard)--but Mary was deficient in life: her face lacked expression,
her eye lustre; she had nothing to say, and having once taken her seat,
remained fixed like a statue in its niche. The sisters were both attired
in spotless white.

And did I now think Miss Ingram such a choice as Mr. Rochester would be
likely to make? I could not tell--I did not know his taste in female
beauty. If he liked the majestic, she was the very type of majesty: then
she was accomplished, sprightly. Most gentlemen would admire her, I
thought; and that he _did_ admire her, I already seemed to have obtained
proof: to remove the last shade of doubt, it remained but to see them
together.

You are not to suppose, reader, that Adele has all this time been si