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.
“What do they say?” she asked.
It was difficult, I found, to speak.
“They say she's my mistress.”
“Oh! How abominable!”
She spoke with the most natural indignation.