the last supper

the last supper
because I witnessed hourly in him a style of courtship which, if
careless and choosing rather to be sought than to seek, was yet, in
its very carelessness, captivating, and in its very pride,
irresistible.
There was nothing to cool or banish love in these circumstances,
though much to create despair. Much too, you will think, reader, to
engender jealousy: if a woman, in my position, could presume to be
jealous of a woman in Miss Ingram's. But I was not jealous: or very
rarely;- the nature of the pain I suffered could not be explained by
the last supper
that word. Miss Ingram was a mark beneath jealousy: she was too
inferior to excite the feeling. Pardon the seeming paradox; I mean
what I say. She was very showy, but she was not genuine: she had a
fine person, many brilliant attainments; but her mind was poor, her
heart barren by nature: nothing bloomed spontaneously on that soil; no
unforced natural fruit delighted by its freshness. She was not good;
she was not original: she used to repeat sounding phrases from
books: she never offered, nor had, an opinion of her own. She
advocated a high tone of sentiment; but she did not know the the last supper