the last supper

the last supper
was decidedly not good-natured. She played: her execution was
brilliant; she sang, her voice was fine; she talked French apart to
her mama; 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
the last supper
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 the very type of
majesty: then she was accomplished, sprightly. Most gentlemen would
admire her, I thought; and that he did admire her, I already seemed to
have obtained proof: to remove the last shade of doubt, it remained
but to see them together.
the last supper