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Chapter XVIII

           IfMissIngramhadbeenagoodandnoblewoman,endowedwithforce,fervour,kindness,sense,Ishouldhavehadonevitalstrugglewithtwotigers—jealousyanddespair: then,myhearttornoutanddevoured,Ishouldhaveadmiredher—acknowledgedherexcellence,andbeenquietfortherestofmydays:andthemoreabsolutehersuperiority,thedeeperwouldhavebeenmyadmiration—themoretrulytranquilmyquiescence. Butasmattersreallystood,towatchMissIngram’seffortsatfascinatingMr.Rochester,towitnesstheirrepeatedfailure—herselfunconsciousthattheydidfail;vainlyfancyingthateachshaftlaunchedhitthemark,andinfatuatedlyplumingherselfonsuccess,whenherprideandself-complacencyrepelledfurtherandfurtherwhatshewishedtoallure—towitnessthis,wastobeatonceunderceaselessexcitationandruthlessrestraint. 

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

           "Whycanshenotinfluencehimmore,whensheisprivilegedtodrawsoneartohim?"Iaskedmyself. "Surelyshecannottrulylikehim,ornotlikehimwithtrueaffection! Ifshedid,sheneednotcoinhersmilessolavishly,flashherglancessounremittingly,manufactureairssoelaborate,gracessomultitudinous. 

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