“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 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 Isabel.
“I could have told him he wouldn’t. I don’t call that crowing over you,” Mrs. Touchett added. “Do you still like Serena Merle?” she went on.
“Not as I once did. But it doesn’t matter, for she’s going to America.”
“To America? She must have done something very bad.”
“Yes—very bad.”