"She was greatly admired, of course?"

"Yes, indeed: and not only for her beauty, but for her

accomplishments. She was one of the ladies who sang: a gentleman

accompanied her on the piano. She and Mr. Rochester sang a duet."

"Mr. Rochester? I was not aware he could sing."

"Oh! he has a fine bass voice, and an excellent taste for music."

"And Miss Ingram: what sort of a voice had she?"

"A very rich and powerful one: she sang delightfully; it was a

treat to listen to her;--and she played afterwards. I am no judge

of music, but Mr. Rochester is; and I heard him say her execution

was remarkably good."

"And this beautiful and accomplished lady, she is not yet married?"

"It appears not: I fancy neither she nor her sister have very large

fortunes. Old Lord Ingram's estates were chiefly entailed, and the

eldest son came in for everything almost."

"But I wonder no wealthy nobleman or gentleman has taken a fancy to

her: Mr. Rochester, for instance. He is rich, is he not?"

"Oh! yes. But you see there is a considerable difference in age:

Mr. Rochester is nearly forty; she is but twenty-five."

"What of that? More unequal matches are made every day."

"True: yet I should scarcely fancy Mr. Rochester would entertain an

idea of the sort. But you eat nothing: you have scarcely tasted

since you began tea."

"No: I am too thirsty to eat. Will you let me have another cup?"

I was about again to revert to the probability of a union between

Mr. Rochester and the beautiful Blanche; but Adele came in, and the

conversation was turned into another channel.

When once more alone, I reviewed the information I had got; looked

into my heart, examined its thoughts and feelings, and endeavoured

to bring back with a strict hand such as had been straying through

imagination's boundless and trackless waste, into the safe fold of

common sense.

Arraigned at my own bar, Memory having given her evidence of the

hopes, wishes, sentiments I had been cherishing since last night--of

the general state of mind in which I had indulged for nearly a

fortnight past; Reason having come forward and told, in her own

quiet way a plain, unvarnished tale, showing how I had rejected the

real, and rabidly devoured the ideal;--I pronounced judgment to this

effect:That a greater fool than Jane Eyre had never breathed the breath of

life; that a more fantastic idiot had never surfeited herself on

sweet lies, and swallowed poison as if it were nectar.




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