aps a little promoted it. He had thought, and had let
her know it, that Strether possibly would think she might have been
round before. At any rate, as turned out, she had been wanting
herself, quite a while, to come. "I told her," said Waymarsh, "that it
would have been a bright idea if she had only carried it out before."

Strether pronounced it so bright as to be almost dazzling. "But why
HASn't she carried it out before? She has seen me every day--she had
only to name her hour. I've been waiting and waiting."

"Well, I told her you had. And she has been waiting too." It was, in
the oddest way in the world, on the showing of this tone, a genial new
pressing coaxing Waymarsh; a Waymarsh conscious with a different
consciousness from any he had yet betrayed, and actually rendered by it
almost insinuating. He lacked only time for full persuasion, and
Strether was to see in a moment why. Meantime, however, our friend
perceived, he was announcing a step of some magnanimity on Mrs.
Pocock's part, so that he could deprecate a sharp question. It was his
own high purpose in fact to have smoothed sharp questions to rest. He
looked his old comrade very straight in the eyes, and he had never
conveyed to him in so mute a manner so much kind confidence and so much
good advice. Everything that was between them was again in his face,
but matured and shelved and finally disposed of. "At any rate," he
added, "she's coming now."

Considering how many pieces had to fit themselves, it all fell, in
Strether's brain, into a close rapid order. He saw on the spot what
had happened, and what probably would yet; and it was all funny enough.
It was perhaps just this freedom of appreciation that wound him up to
his flare of high spirits. "What is she coming FOR?--to kill me?"

"She's coming to be very VERY kind to you, and you must let me say that
I greatly hope you'll not be less so to herself."

This was spoken by Waymarsh with much gravity of admonition, and as
Strether stood there he knew he had but to make a movement to take the
attitude of a man gracefully receiving a present. The present was that
of the opportunity dear old Waymarsh had flattered himself he had
divined in him the slight soreness of not having yet thoroughly
enjoyed; so he had brought it to him thus, as on a little silver
breakfast-tray, familiarly though delicately--without oppressive pomp;
and he was to bend and smile and acknowledge, was to take and