小说园

第32部分（第2页）

“And　what　was　she　like？”

“Tall；　fine　bust；　sloping　shoulders；　long；　graceful　neck：　olive　plexion；　dark　and　clear；　noble　features；　eyes　rather　like　Mr。　Rochester’s：　large　and　black；　and　as　brilliant　as　her　jewels。　And　then　she　had　such　a　fine　head　of　hair；　raven…black　and　so　beingly　arranged：　a　crown　of　thick　plaits　behind；　and　in　front　the　longest；　the　glossiest　curls　I　ever　saw。　She　was　dressed　in　pure　white；　an　amber…coloured　scarf　was　passed　over　her　shoulder　and　across　her　breast；　tied　at　the　side；　and　descending　in　long；　fringed　ends　below　her　knee。　She　wore　an　amber…coloured　flower；　too；　in　her　hair：　it　contrasted　well　with　the　jetty　mass　of　her　curls。”

“She　was　greatly　admired；　of　course？”

“Yes；　indeed：　and　not　only　for　her　beauty；　but　for　her　acplishments。　She　was　one　of　the　ladies　who　sang：　a　gentleman　acpanied　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　acplished　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　Adèle　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　mon　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　e　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。

“You；”　I　said；　“a　favourite　with　Mr。　Rochester？　You　gifted　with　the　power　of　pleasing　him？　You　of　importance　to　him　in　any　way？　Go！　your　folly　sickens　me。　And　you　have　derived　pleasure　from　occasional　tokens　of　preference—equivocal　tokens　shown　by　a　gentleman　of　family　and　a　man　of　the　world　to　a　dependent　and　a　novice。　How　dared　you？　Poor　stupid　dupe！—Could　not　even　self…　i