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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 

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