its
own; the place at no time more picturesque. I think I shall like it.
And then," he benevolently smiled for her, "there will be always you."

"Oh," she objected, "it won't be as a part of the picturesqueness that
I shall stay, for I shall be the plainest thing about you. You may, you
see, at any rate," she pursued, "have nobody else. Madame de Vionnet
may very well be going off, mayn't she?--and Mr. Newsome by the same
stroke: unless indeed you've had an assurance from them to the
contrary. So that if your idea's to stay for them"--it was her duty to
suggest it--"you may be left in the lurch. Of course if they do
stay"--she kept it up--"they would be part of the picturesqueness. Or
else indeed you might join them somewhere."

Strether seemed to face it as if it were a happy thought; but the next
moment he spoke more critically. "Do you mean that they'll probably go
off together?"

She just considered. "I think it will be treating you quite without
ceremony if they do; though after all," she added, "it would be
difficult to see now quite what degree of ceremony properly meets your
case."

"Of course," Strether conceded, "my attitude toward them is
extraordinary."

"Just so; so that one may ask one's self what style of proceeding on
their own part can altogether match it. The attitude of their own that
won't pale in its light they've doubtless still to work out. The
really handsome thing perhaps," she presently threw off, "WOULD be for
them to withdraw into more secluded conditions, offering at the same
time to share them with you." He looked at her, on this, as if some
generous irritation--all in his interest--had suddenly again flickered
in her; and what she next said indeed half-explained it. "Don't really
be afraid to tell me if what now holds you IS the pleasant prospect of
the empty town, with plenty of seats in the shade, cool drinks,
deserted museums, drives to the Bois in the evening, and our wonderful
woman all to yourself." And she kept it up still more. "The handsomest
thing of ALL, when one makes it out, would, I dare say, be that Mr.
Chad should for a while go off by himself. It's a pity, from that
point of view," she wound up, "that he doesn't pay his mother a visit.
It would at least occupy your interval." The thought in fact held her a
moment. "Why doesn't he pay his mother a visit? Even a week, at this
good moment, would do."

"My dear lady," Strether replied--and he had it even