r
mother's appeal is to the whole of your mind, and that's exactly the
strength of her case."

Chad's fingers continued to twiddle, but he had something of a drop.
"Ah we've been through my mother's case!"

"So I thought. Why then do you speak of the matter?"

"Only because it was part of our original discussion. To wind up where
we began, my interest's purely platonic. There at any rate the fact
is--the fact of the possible. I mean the money in it."

"Oh damn the money in it!" said Strether. And then as the young man's
fixed smile seemed to shine out more strange: "Shall you give your
friend up for the money in it?"

Chad preserved his handsome grimace as well as the rest of his
attitude. "You're not altogether--in your so great 'solemnity'--kind.
Haven't I been drinking you in--showing you all I feel you're worth to
me? What have I done, what am I doing, but cleave to her to the death?
The only thing is," he good-humouredly explained, "that one can't but
have it before one, in the cleaving--the point where the death comes
in. Don't be afraid for THAT. It's pleasant to a fellow's feelings,"
he developed, "to 'size-up' the bribe he applies his foot to."

"Oh then if all you want's a kickable surface the bribe's enormous."

"Good. Then there it goes!" Chad administered his kick with fantastic
force and sent an imaginary object flying. It was accordingly as if
they were once more rid of the question and could come back to what
really concerned him. "Of course I shall see you tomorrow."

But Strether scarce heeded the plan proposed for this; he had still the
impression--not the slighter for the simulated kick--of an irrelevant
hornpipe or jig. "You're restless."

"Ah," returned Chad as they parted, "you're exciting."

V

He had, however, within two days, another separation to face. He had
sent Maria Gostrey a word early, by hand, to ask if he might come to
breakfast; in consequence of which, at noon, she awaited him in the
cool shade of her little Dutch-looking dining-room. This retreat was at
the back of the house, with a view of a scrap of old garden that had
been saved from modern ravage; and though he had on more than one other
occasion had his legs under its small and peculiarly polished table of
hospitality, the place had never before struck him as so sacred to
pleasant knowledge, to intimate charm, to antique order, to a neatness
that was almost august. To sit there was, as he had to