"Aunt Lydia, I've something to tell you." Mrs.Touchett gave a little jump and looked at her almost fiercely.

"You needn't tell me; I know what it is." "I don't know how you know." "The same way that I know when the window's open--by feeling a draught.
You're going to marry that man." "What man do you mean ?" Isabel enquired with great dignity.
"Madame Merle's friend--Mr.Osmond." "I don't know why you call him Madame Merle's friend.

Is that the principal thing he's known by ?" "If he's not her friend he ought to be--after what she has done for him!" cried Mrs.Touchett.

"I shouldn't have expected it of her; I'm disappointed." "If you mean that Madame Merle has had anything to do with my engagement you're greatly mistaken," Isabel declared with a sort of ardent coldness.
"You mean that your attractions were sufficient, without the gentleman's having had to be lashed up?
You're quite right.

They're immense, your attractions, and he would never have presumed to think of you if she hadn't put him up to it.