vivid enough to come and go quickly; though indeed in the midst of it Strether could utter a question. "Have I your word of honour that if I surrender myself to Mme. de Vionnet you'll surrender yourself to me?"
Chad laid his hand firmly on his friend's. "My dear man, you have it."
There was finally something in his felicity almost embarrassing and oppressive; Strether had begun to fidget, under it, for the open air and the erect posture. He had signed to the waiter that he wished to pay, and this transaction took some moments, during which he thoroughly felt, while he put down money and pretended—it was quite hollow—to estimate change, that Chad's higher spirit, his youth, his practice, his paganism, his felicity, his assurance, his impudence, whatever it might be, had consciously scored a success. Well, that would serve, so far as it went; they covered our friend for a minute like a veil, through which—as if he had been muffled—he heard his interlocutor ask him if he mightn't take him over about five. "Over" was over the river, and over the river was where Mme. de Vionnet lived, and five was that very afternoon. They got at last out of the place—got out before he answered. He lighted, in the street, a cigarette, which again gave him more time. But it was already sharp for him that there was no use in time. "What does she propose to do to me?" he had presently demanded.
Chad had no delays. "Are you afraid of her?"
"Oh, immensely. Don't you see it?"
"Well," said Chad, "she won't do anything worse to you than make you like her."
"It's just of that I'm afraid."
"Then it's not fair to me."
Strether hesitated. "It's fair to your mother."
"Oh," said Chad, "are you afraid of her?"
"Scarcely less. Or perhaps even more. But is this lady against your interests at home?" Strether went on.
"Not directly, no doubt; but she's greatly in favour of them here."
"And what—'here'—does she consider them to be?"
"Well, good relations!"
"And what are your good relations?"
