he found occasion to give an
answer more in consonance with the facts. What was the matter had
continued to be so all the previous evening, the first hours of which,
after dinner, in his room, he had devoted to the copious composition of
a letter. He had quitted Waymarsh for this purpose, leaving him to his
own resources with less ceremony than their wont, but finally coming
down again with his letter unconcluded and going forth into the streets
without enquiry for his comrade. He had taken a long vague walk, and
one o'clock had struck before his return and his re-ascent to his room
by the aid of the glimmering candle-end left for him on the shelf
outside the porter's lodge. He had possessed himself, on closing his
door, of the numerous loose sheets of his unfinished composition, and
then, without reading them over, had torn them into small pieces. He
had thereupon slept--as if it had been in some measure thanks to that
sacrifice--the sleep of the just, and had prolonged his rest
considerably beyond his custom. Thus it was that when, between nine
and ten, the tap of the knob of a walking-stick sounded on his door, he
had not yet made himself altogether presentable. Chad Newsome's bright
deep voice determined quickly enough none the less the admission of the
visitor. The little blue paper of the evening before, plainly an
object the more precious for its escape from premature destruction, now
lay on the sill of the open window, smoothed out afresh and kept from
blowing away by the superincumbent weight of his watch. Chad, looking
about with careless and competent criticism, as he looked wherever he
went immediately espied it and permitted himself to fix it for a moment
rather hard. After which he turned his eyes to his host. "It has come
then at last?"

Strether paused in the act of pinning his necktie. "Then you know--?
You've had one too?"

"No, I've had nothing, and I only know what I see. I see that thing
and I guess. Well," he added, "it comes as pat as in a play, for I've
precisely turned up this morning--as I would have done yesterday, but
it was impossible--to take you."

"To take me?" Strether had turned again to his glass.

"Back, at last, as I promised. I'm ready--I've really been ready this
month. I've only been waiting for you--as was perfectly right. But
you're better now; you're safe--I see that for myself; you've got all
your good. You're looking, this morning, as fit as a flea."