. It has only just
been made public."

"I'm very glad," Isabel repeated with a larger emphasis. She knew her
aunt was watching her--looking for the signs of some imputed soreness,
and the desire to prevent her companion from seeing anything of this
kind enabled her to speak in the tone of quick satisfaction, the tone
almost of relief. Mrs. Touchett of course followed the tradition that
ladies, even married ones, regard the marriage of their old lovers as
an offence to themselves. Isabel's first care therefore was to show
that however that might be in general she was not offended now. But
meanwhile, as I say, her heart beat faster; and if she sat for some
moments thoughtful--she presently forgot Mrs. Touchett's observation--it
was not because she had lost an admirer. Her imagination had traversed
half Europe; it halted, panting, and even trembling a little, in the
city of Rome. She figured herself announcing to her husband that Lord
Warburton was to lead a bride to the altar, and she was of course
not aware how extremely wan she must have looked while she made this
intellectual effort. But at last she collected herself and said to her
aunt: "He was sure to do it some time or other."

Mrs. Touchett was silent; then she gave a sharp little shake of the
head. "Ah, my dear, you're beyond me!" she cried suddenly. They went on
with their luncheon in silence; Isabel felt as if 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 followed by her eyes.

"Have you ever been sorry you didn't marry Lord Warburton?" 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 declared, smiling