She won't care."
As Isabel drove, in the publicity of an open vehicle, along the
winding way which led to Mr. Osmond's hill-top, she wondered what
her friend had meant by no one's being the wiser. Once in a while,
at large intervals, this lady, whose voyaging discretion, as a general
thing, was rather of the open sea than of the risky channel, dropped a
remark of ambiguous quality, struck a note that sounded false. What
cared Isabel Archer for the vulgar judgements of obscure people? and
did Madame Merle suppose that she was capable of doing a thing at
all if it had to be sneakingly done? Of course not: she must have
meant something else- something which in the press of the hours that
preceded her departure she had not had time to explain. Isabel would
return to this some day; there were sorts of things as to which she
liked to be clear. She heard Pansy strumming at the piano in another
place as she herself was ushered into Mr. Osmond's drawing-room; the
little girl was "practising," and Isabel was pleased to think she
performed this duty with rigour. She immediately came in, smoothing
down her frock, and did the honours of her father's house with a
wide-eyed earnestness of courtesy.
Pages:
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550