She wondered. "And what do they do after? They can't come straight
home."

"No, they can't come straight home--at least Sarah can't. It's their
secret, but I think I've guessed it." Then as she waited: "The circus."

It made her stare a moment longer, then laugh almost to extravagance.
"There's no one like you!"

"Like ME?"--he only wanted to understand.

"Like all of you together--like all of us: Woollett, Milrose and their
products. We're abysmal--but may we never be less so! Mr. Newsome,"
she continued, "meanwhile takes Miss Pocock--?"

"Precisely--to the Francais: to see what you took Waymarsh and me to,
a family-bill."

"Ah then may Mr. Chad enjoy it as I did!" But she saw so much in
things. "Do they spend their evenings, your young people, like that,
alone together?"

"Well, they're young people--but they're old friends."

"I see, I see. And do THEY dine--for a difference--at Brebant's?"

"Oh where they dine is their secret too. But I've my idea that it will
be, very quietly, at Chad's own place."

"She'll come to him there alone?"

They looked at each other a moment. "He has known her from a child.
Besides," said Strether with emphasis, "Mamie's remarkable. She's
splendid."

She wondered. "Do you mean she expects to bring it off?"

"Getting hold of him? No--I think not."

"She doesn't want him enough?--or doesn't believe in her power?" On
which as he said nothing she continued: "She finds she doesn't care
for him?"

"No--I think she finds she does. But that's what I mean by so
describing her. It's IF she does that she's splendid. But we'll see,"
he wound up, "where she comes out."

"You seem to show me sufficiently," Miss Gostrey laughed, "where she
goes in! But is her childhood's friend," she asked, "permitting
himself recklessly to flirt with her?"

"No--not that. Chad's also splendid. They're ALL splendid!" he
declared with a sudden strange sound of wistfulness and envy. "They're
at least HAPPY."

"Happy?"--it appeared, with their various difficulties, to surprise her.

"Well--I seem to myself among them the only one who isn't."

She demurred. "With your constant tribute to the ideal?"

He had a laugh at his tribute to the ideal, but he explained after a
moment his impression. "I mean they're living. They're rushing about.
I've already had my rushing. I'm waiting."

"But aren't you," she asked by way of cheer, "waiting with ME?"

He looked at her in all