"Oh, not much! Do you think that when I want to go anyone will have any power———"
"To keep you"—Strether took him straight up—"from carrying out your wish? Well, our idea has been that somebody has hitherto—or a good many persons perhaps—kept you pretty well from 'wanting.' That's what, if you're in anybody's hands, may again happen. You don't answer my question"—he kept it up—"but if you aren't in anybody's hands, so much the better. There's nothing then but what makes for your going."
Chad turned this over. "I don't answer your question?" He spoke quite without resenting it. "Well, such questions have always a rather exaggerated side. One doesn't know quite what you mean by being in women's 'hands.' It's all so vague. One is when one isn't. One isn't when one is. And then one can't quite give people away." He seemed kindly to explain. "I've never got stuck—so very hard; and, as against anything at any time really better, I don't think I've ever been afraid." There was something in it that held Strether to wonder, and this gave him time to go on. He broke out as with a more helpful thought. "Don't you know how I like Paris itself?"
The upshot was indeed to make our friend marvel. "Oh, if that's all that's the matter with you———!" It was he who almost showed resentment.
Chad's smile, however, more than met it. "But isn't that enough?"
Strether hesitated, but it came out. "Not enough for your mother." Spoken, however, it sounded a trifle odd, the effect of which was that Chad broke into a laugh. Strether at this succumbed as well, though with extreme brevity. "Permit us to have still our theory. But if you are so free and so strong, you're inexcusable. I'll write in the morning," he added, with decision; "I'll say I've got you."
This appeared to open for Chad a new interest. "How often do you write?"
"Oh, perpetually."
"And at great length?"
Strether had become a little impatient. "I hope it's not found too great."
