"It's what I'm waiting to see. But I've little doubt she would," he added, "if she could comfortably see you."
It seemed to strike her as a happy, a beneficent thought. "Oh then, couldn't that be managed? Wouldn't she come out? Wouldn't she if you so put it to her? Did you by any possibility?" she faintly quavered.
"Oh no"—he was prompt. "Not that. It would be, much more, to give an account of you that—since there's no question of your paying the visit—I should go home first."
It instantly made her graver. "And are you thinking of that?"
"Oh, all the while, naturally."
"Stay with us—stay with us!" she exclaimed on this. "That's your only way to make sure."
"To make sure of what?"
"Why, that he doesn't break up. You didn't come out to do that to him."
"Doesn't it depend," Strether returned after a moment, "on what you mean by breaking up?"
"Oh, you know well enough what I mean!"
His silence, again, for a little, seemed to denote an understanding. "You take for granted remarkable things."
"Yes, I do—to the extent that I don't take for granted vulgar ones. You're perfectly capable of seeing that what you came out for was not really at all to do what you would now have to do."
"Ah, it's perfectly simple," Strether good-humouredly pleaded. "I've had but one thing to do—to put our case before him. To put it as it could only be put, here, on the spot—by personal pressure. My dear lady," he lucidly pursued, "my work, you see, is really done, and my reasons for staying on even another day are none of the best. Chad's in possession of our case and professes to do it full justice. What remains is with himself. I've had my rest, my amusement and refreshment; I've had, as we say at Woollett, a lovely time. Nothing in it has been more lovely than this happy meeting with you—in these fantastic conditions to which you've so delightfully consented. I've a sense of success. It's what I wanted.
