Toward her mother, she felt guilty of knowing.

Her mother had a horror of that curtain.
Nesta had seen it, and had taken her impressions; she, too, shrank from it; the more when impelled to draw near it.

Louise de Seilles would have been another self; Louise was away; when to return, the dear friend could not state.

Speaking in her ear, would have been possible; the theme precluded writing.
It was ponderous combustible new knowledge of life for a girl to hold unaided.

In the presence of the simple silvery ladies Dorothea and Virginia, she had qualms, as if she were breaking out in spots before them.