confessing to all there was, and only leaving Strether to make certain connections. "Is what Mrs. Newsome has cabled her daughter an injunction to 'quit'?"
The grand manner indeed, at this, just raised its head a little. "I know nothing about Mrs. Newsome's cables."
Their eyes met on it with some intensity—during the few seconds of which something happened quite out of proportion to the time. It happened that Strether, looking thus at his friend, didn't take his answer for truth—and that something more again occurred in consequence of that. Yes—Waymarsh just did know about Mrs. Newsome's cables: to what other end than that had they dined together at Bignon's? Strether almost felt for the instant that it was to Mrs. Newsome herself the dinner had been given; and, for that matter, quite felt how she must have known about it and, as he might think, protected and consecrated it. He had a quick, blurred view of daily cables, questions, answers, signals; clear enough was his vision of the expense that, when so exalted, the lady at home was prepared to incur. Vivid not less was his memory of what, during his long observation of her, some of her exaltations had cost her. Distinctly, she was exalted now, and Waymarsh, who imagined himself standing there on his own feet, was truly but suspended in an air of her making. The whole reference of his errand seemed to mark her for Strether as by this time consentingly familiar to him, and nothing yet had so despoiled her of a special shade of consideration. "You don't know," he asked, "whether Sarah has been directed from home to try me on the matter of my also going to Switzerland?"
"I know," said Waymarsh as manfully as possible, "nothing whatever about her private affairs, though I believe her to be acting in conformity with things that have my highest respect." It was as manful as possible, but it was still the same manner—as it had to be to convey so sorry a statement. He knew everything, Strether more and more felt, that he thus disclaimed, and his little punishment was just in this doom to a second fib. What falser position—given the man—could the most vindictive mind impose? He ended by squeezing through a passage in which, three months before, he would certainly have
