Her ejaculation had no particular object; she smiled at Isabel as she made it and looked at her from head to foot.
Her brother had not heard her; he seemed to be thinking what he could say to Isabel.

"Won't you have some tea ?--you must be very tired," he at last bethought himself of remarking.
"No indeed, I'm not tired; what have I done to tire me ?" Isabel felt a certain need of being very direct, of pretending to nothing; there was something in the air, in her general impression of things--she could hardly have said what it was--that deprived her of all disposition to put herself forward.

The place, the occasion, the combination of people, signified more than lay on the surface; she would try to understand--she would not simply utter graceful platitudes.

Poor Isabel was doubtless not aware that many women would have uttered graceful platitudes to cover the working of their observation.

It must be confessed that her pride was a trifle alarmed.