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；