After all, why should I tell her? She'd got to a way of living that fulfilled her requirements. Perhaps she'd never hear. But all that day and the day before I'd been making up my mind to do the thing.
“I want to tell you something,” I said. “I wish you'd sit down for a moment or so.”...
Once I had begun, it seemed to me I had to go through with it.
Something in the quality of my voice gave her an intimation of unusual gravity. She looked at me steadily for a moment and sat down slowly in my armchair.
“What is it?” she said.
I went on awkwardly. “I've got to tell you—something extraordinarily distressing,” I said.
She was manifestly altogether unaware.
“There seems to be a good deal of scandal abroad—I've only recently heard of it—about myself—and Isabel.”
“Isabel!”
I nodded.