Page 809 - the-portrait-of-a-lady

she had heard of Lord Warburton’s death. She had known
him only as a suitor, and now that was all over. He was dead
for poor Pansy; by Pansy he might have lived. A servant had
been hovering about; at last Mrs. Touchett requested him
to leave them alone. She had finished her meal; she sat with
her hands folded on the edge of the table. ‘I should like to
ask you three questions,’ she observed when the servant had
gone.
‘Three are a great many.’
‘I can’t do with less; I’ve been thinking. They’re all very
good ones.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of. The best questions are the
worst,’ Isabel answered. Mrs. Touchett had pushed back
her chair, and as her niece left the table and walked, rather
consciously, to one of the deep windows, she felt herself fol-
lowed by her eyes.
‘Have you ever been sorry you didn’t marry Lord War-
burton?’ Mrs.
Touchett enquired.
Isabel shook her head slowly, but not heavily. ‘No, dear
aunt.’
‘Good. I ought to tell you that I propose to believe what
you say.’
‘Your believing me’s an immense temptation,’ she de-
clared, smiling still.
‘A temptation to lie? I don’t recommend you to do that,
for when I’m misinformed I’m as dangerous as a poisoned
rat. I don’t mean to crow over you.’
‘It’s my husband who doesn’t get on with me,’ said Isa-

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