and her
workbox, and turn her drawers inside out; and she was so good-natured,
she would give us anything we asked for."

"I suppose, now," said Miss Ingram, curling her lip sarcastically, "we
shall have an abstract of the memoirs of all the governesses extant: in
order to avert such a visitation, I again move the introduction of a new
topic. Mr. Rochester, do you second my motion?"

"Madam, I support you on this point, as on every other."

"Then on me be the onus of bringing it forward. Signior Eduardo, are you
in voice to-night?"

"Donna Bianca, if you command it, I will be."

"Then, signior, I lay on you my sovereign behest to furbish up your lungs
and other vocal organs, as they will be wanted on my royal service."

"Who would not be the Rizzio of so divine a Mary?"

"A fig for Rizzio!" cried she, tossing her head with all its curls, as
she moved to the piano. "It is my opinion the fiddler David must have
been an insipid sort of fellow; I like black Bothwell better: to my mind
a man is nothing without a spice of the devil in him; and history may say
what it will of James Hepburn, but I have a notion, he was just the sort
of wild, fierce, bandit hero whom I could have consented to gift with my
hand."

"Gentlemen, you hear! Now which of you most resembles Bothwell?" cried
Mr. Rochester.

"I should say the preference lies with you," responded Colonel Dent.

"On my honour, I am much obliged to you," was the reply.

Miss Ingram, who had now seated herself with proud grace at the piano,
spreading out her snowy robes in queenly amplitude, commenced a brilliant
prelude; talking meantime. She appeared to be on her high horse
to-night; both her words and her air seemed intended to excite not only
the admiration, but the amazement of her auditors: she was evidently bent
on striking them as something very dashing and daring indeed.

"Oh, I am so sick of the young men of the present day!" exclaimed she,
rattling away at the instrument. "Poor, puny things, not fit to stir a
step beyond papa's park gates: nor to go even so far without mama's
permission and guardianship! Creatures so absorbed in care about their
pretty faces, and their white hands, and their small feet; as if a man
had anything to do with beauty! As if loveliness were not the special
prerogative of woman--her legitimate appanage and heritage! I grant an
ugly _woman_ is a blot on the fair face of creation; but as to the
_gentlemen_, let them