CHAPTER XXXIII

Her fit of weeping, however, was soon smothered, and the signs of
it had vanished when, an hour later, she broke the news to her
aunt. I use this expression because she had been sure Mrs.
Touchett would not be pleased; Isabel had only waited to tell her
till she had seen Mr. Goodwood. She had an odd impression that it
would not be honourable to make the fact public before she should
have heard what Mr. Goodwood would say about it. He had said
rather less than she expected, and she now had a somewhat angry
sense of having lost time. But she would lose no more; she waited
till Mrs. Touchett came into the drawing-room before the mid-day
breakfast, and then she began. "Aunt Lydia, I've something to
tell you."

Mrs. Touchett gave a little jump and looked at her almost
fiercely. "You needn't tell me; I know what it is."

"I don't know how you know."

"The same way that I know when the window's open--by feeling a
draught. You're going to marry that man."

"What man do you mean?" Isabel enquired with great dignity.

"Madame Merle's friend--Mr. Osmond."

"I don't know why you call him Madame Merle's friend. Is that the