I hardly heard Mrs。 Fairfax’s account of the curtain conflagration during dinner； so much was I occupied in puzzling my brains over the enigmatical character of Grace Poole； and still more in pondering the problem of her position at Thornfield and questioning why she had not been given into custody that morning； or； at the very least； dismissed from her master’s service。 He had almost as much as declared his conviction of her criminality last night： what mysterious cause withheld him from accusing her？ Why had he enjoined me； too； to secrecy？ It was strange： a bold； vindictive； and haughty gentleman seemed somehow in the power of one of the meanest of his dependants； so much in her power； that even when she lifted her hand against his life； he dared not openly charge her with the attempt； much less punish her for it。
Had Grace been young and handsome； I should have been tempted to think that tenderer feelings than prudence or fear influenced Mr。 Rochester in her behalf； but； hard…favoured and matronly as she was； the idea could not be admitted。 “Yet；” I reflected； “she has been young once； her youth would be contemporary with her master’s： Mrs。 Fairfax told me once； she had lived here many years。 I don’t think she can ever have been pretty； but； for aught I know； she may possess originality and strength of character to pensate for the want of personal advantages。 Mr。 Rochester is an amateur of the decided and eccentric： Grace is eccentric at least。 What if a former caprice （a freak very possible to a nature so sudden and headstrong as his） has delivered him into her power； and she now exercises over his actions a secret influence； the result of his own indiscretion； which he cannot shake off； and dare not disregard？” But； having reached this point of conjecture； Mrs。 Poole’s square； flat figure； and unely； dry； even coarse face； recurred so distinctly to my mind’s eye； that I thought； “No； impossible！ my supposition cannot be correct。 Yet；” suggested the secret voice which talks to us in our own hearts； “you are not beautiful either； and perhaps Mr。 Rochester approves you： at any rate； you have often felt as if he did； and last night—remember his words； remember his look； remember his voice！”
I well remembered all； language； glance； and tone seemed at the moment vividly renewed。 I was now in the schoolroom； Adèle was drawing； I bent over her and directed her pencil。 She looked up with a sort of start。
“Qu’ avez…vous； mademoiselle？” said she。 “Vos doigts tremblent me la feuille； et vos joues sont rouges： mais； rouges me des cerises！”
“I am hot； Adèle； with stooping！” She went on sketching； I went on thinking。
I hastened to drive from my mind the hateful notion I had been conceiving respecting Grace Poole； it disgusted me。 I pared myself with her； and found we were different。 Bessie Leaven had said I was quite a lady； and she spoke truth—I was a lady。 And now I looked much better than I did when Bessie saw me； I had more colour and more flesh； more life； more vivacity； because I had brighter hopes and keener enjoyments。
“Evening approaches；” said I； as I looked towards the window。 “I have never heard Mr。 Rochester’s voice or step in the house to…day； but surely I shall see him before night： I feared the meeting in the morning； now I desire it； because expectation has been so long baffled that it is grown impatient。”
When dusk actually closed； and when Adèle left me to go and play in the nursery with Sophie； I did most keenly desire it。 I listened for the bell to ring below； I listened for Leah ing up with a message； I fancied sometimes I heard Mr。 Rochester’s own tread； and I turned to the door； expecting it to open and admit him。 The door remained shut； darkness only came in through the window。 Still it was not late； he often sent for me at seven and eight o’clock； and it was yet but six。 Surely I should not be wholly disappointed to… night； when I had so many things to say to him！ I wanted again to introduce the subject of Grace Poole； and to hear what he would answer； I wanted to ask him plainly if he really believed it was she who had made last night’s hideous attempt； and if so； why he kept her wickedness a secret。 It little mattered whether my curiosity irritated him； I knew the pleasure of vexing and soothing him by turns； it was one I chiefly delighted in； and a sure instinct always prevented me from going too far； beyond the verge of provocation I never ventured； on the extreme brink I liked well to try my skill。 Retaining every minute form of respect； every propriety of my station； I could still meet him in argument without fear or uneasy restraint； this suited both him and me。
A tread creaked on the stairs at last。 Leah made her appearance； but it was only to intimate that tea was ready in Mrs。 Fairfax’s room。 Thither I repaired； glad at least to go downstairs； for that brought me； I imagined； nearer to Mr。 Rochester’s presence。
“You must want your tea；” said the good lady； as I joined her； “you ate so little at dinner。 I am afraid；” she continued； “you are not well to…day： you look flushed and feverish。”
“Oh； quite well！ I never felt better。”
“Then you must prove it by evincing a good appetite； will you fill the teapot while I knit off this needle？” Having pleted her task； she rose to draw down the blind； which she had hitherto kept up； by way； I suppose； of making the most of daylight； though dusk was now fast deepening into total obscurity。
“It is fair to…night；” said she； as she looked through the panes； “though not starlight； Mr。 Rochester has； on the whole； had a favourable day for his journey。”
“Journey！—Is Mr。 Rochester gone anywhere？ I did not know he was out。”
“Oh； he set of the moment he had breakfasted！ He is gone to the Leas； Mr。 Eshton’s place； ten miles on the other side Millcote。 I believe there is quite a party assembled there； Lord Ingram； Sir George Lynn； Colonel Dent； and others。”
“Do you expect him back to…night？”
“No—nor to…morrow either； I should think he is very likely to stay a week or more： when these fine； fashionable people get together； they are so surrounded by elegance and gaiety； so well provided with all that can please and entertain； they are in no hurry to separate。 Gentlemen especially are often in request on such occasions； and Mr。 Rochester is so talented and so lively in society； that I believe he is a general favourite： the ladies are very fond of him； though you would not think his appearance calculated to remend him particularly in their eyes： but I suppose his acquirements and abilities； perhaps his wealth and good blood； make amends for any little fault of look。”
“Are there ladies at the Leas？”
“There are Mrs。 Eshton and her three daughters—very elegant young ladies indeed； and there are the Honourable Blanche and Mary Ingram； most beautiful women； I suppose： indeed I have seen Blanche； six or seven years since； when she was a girl of eighteen。 She came here to a Christmas ball and party Mr。 Rochester gave。 You should have seen the dining…room that day—how richly it was decorated； how brilliantly lit up！ I should think there were fifty ladies and gentlemen present—all of the first county families； and Miss Ingram was considered the belle of the evening。”
“You saw her； you say； Mrs。 Fairfax： what was she like？”
“Yes； I saw her。 The dining…room doors were thrown open； and； as it was Christmas…time； the servants were allowed to assemble in the hall； to hear some of the ladies sing and play。 Mr。 Rochester would have me to e in； and I sat down in a quiet corner and watched them。 I never saw a more splendid scene： the ladies were magnificently dressed； most of them—at least most of the younger ones—looked handsome； but Miss Ingram was certainly the queen。”
“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