The letter was one moment in her hand, then in her lap, and then in her pocket; and she looked as if she knew not what she did.

The general, between his cocoa and his newspaper, had luckily no leisure for noticing her; but to the other two her distress was equally visible.

As soon as she dared leave the table she hurried away to her own room; but the housemaids were busy in it, and she was obliged to come down again.
She turned into the drawing-room for privacy, but Henry and Eleanor had likewise retreated thither, and were at that moment deep in consultation about her.

She drew back, trying to beg their pardon, but was, with gentle violence, forced to return; and the others withdrew, after Eleanor had affectionately expressed a wish of being of use or comfort to her.
After half an hour's free indulgence of grief and reflection, Catherine felt equal to encountering her friends; but whether she should make her distress known to them was another consideration.

Perhaps, if particularly questioned, she might just give an idea--just distantly hint at it--but not more.