iswaswheretheouchedandteased—thiswaswherethefeverwassustainedandfed:shecouldnotcharmhim.

    Ifshehadmahevictoryatondhehadyieldedandsincerelylaidhisheartatherfeet,Ishouldhavecoveredmyface,turhewall,and(figuratively)havediedtothem.IfMissIngramhadbeenagoodandnoblewoman,ehforce,fervour,kindness,sense,Ishouldhavehadoalstrugglewithtwotigers—jealousyanddespair:then,myhearttornoutanddevoured,Ishouldhaveadmiredher—aowledgedherexcellendbeefortherestofmydays:andthemoreabsolutehersuperiority,thedeeperwouldhavebeenmyadmiration—themoretrulytranquilmyquiesce.Butasmattersreallystood,towatchMissIngram’seffortsatfasatingMr.Rochester,towitheirrepeatedfailure—herselfunsciousthattheydidfail;vainlyfangthateachshaftlauthemark,andinfatuatedlyplumingherselfonsuccess,whenherprideandself-placyrepelledfurtherandfurtherwhatshewishedtoallure—towithis,wastobeatonderceaselessexcitationandruthlessrestraint.

    Because,whenshefailed,Isawhowshemighthavesucceeded.ArrowsthattinuallyglancedofffromMr.Rochester’sbreastandfellharmlessathisfeet,might,Iknew,ifshotbyasurerhand,havequiveredkeeninhisproudheart—havecalledloveintohissterneye,andsoftnessintohissardonicface;or,betterstill,withoutonsasilentquestmighthavebeenwon.

    “Whyshenotinfluencehimmore,whensheisprivilegedtodrawsoohim?”Iaskedmyself.“Surelysheottrulylikehim,ornotlikehimwithtrueaffe!Ifshedid,shehersmilessolavishly,flashherglancessouingly,manufactureairssoelaborate,graultitudinous.Itseemstomethatshemight,bymerelysittingquietlyathisside,sayinglit