nt；　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