te. Waymarsh was having a good
time--this was the truth that was embarrassing for him, and he was
having it then and there, he was having it in Europe, he was having it
under the very protection of circumstances of which he didn't in the
least approve; all of which placed him in a false position, with no
issue possible--none at least by the grand manner. It was practically
in the manner of any one--it was all but in poor Strether's own--that
instead of taking anything up he merely made the most of having to be
himself explanatory. "I'm not leaving for the United States direct.
Mr. and Mrs. Pocock and Miss Mamie are thinking of a little trip before
their own return, and we've been talking for some days past of our
joining forces. We've settled it that we do join and that we sail
together the end of next month. But we start to-morrow for Switzerland.
Mrs. Pocock wants some scenery. She hasn't had much yet."

He was brave in his way too, keeping nothing back, confessing all there
was, and only leaving Strether to make certain connexions. "Is what
Mrs. Newsome had cabled her daughter an injunction to break off short?"

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
wound up, 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
attainments of that high pitch had cost her. Distinctly she was at the
highest now, and Waymarsh, who imagined himself an independent
performer, was really, forcing his fine old natural voice, an
overstrained accompanist. The whole reference of his errand seemed to
mark her for Strether as by this time consentin