he right one from that point of view! But it isn't his
father in him," Strether added, "that troubles me."

"What is it then?" He came back to his breakfast; he partook presently
of the charming melon, which she liberally cut for him; and it was only
after this that he met her question. Then moreover it was but to
remark that he'd answer her presently. She waited, she watched, she
served him and amused him, and it was perhaps with this last idea that
she soon reminded him of his having never even yet named to her the
article produced at Woollett. "Do you remember our talking of it in
London--that night at the play?" Before he could say yes, however, she
had put it to him for other matters. Did he remember, did he
remember--this and that of their first days? He remembered everything,
bringing up with humour even things of which she professed no
recollection, things she vehemently denied; and falling back above all
on the great interest of their early time, the curiosity felt by both
of them as to where he would "come out." They had so assumed it was to
be in some wonderful place--they had thought of it as so very MUCH out.
Well, that was doubtless what it had been--since he had come out just
there. He was out, in truth, as far as it was possible to be, and must
now rather bethink himself of getting in again. He found on the spot
the image of his recent history; he was like one of the figures of the
old clock at Berne. THEY came out, on one side, at their hour, jigged
along their little course in the public eye, and went in on the other
side. He too had jigged his little course--him too a modest retreat
awaited. He offered now, should she really like to know, to name the
great product of Woollett. It would be a great commentary on
everything. At this she stopped him off; she not only had no wish to
know, but she wouldn't know for the world. She had done with the
products of Woollett--for all the good she had got from them. She
desired no further news of them, and she mentioned that Madame de
Vionnet herself had, to her knowledge, lived exempt from the
information he was ready to supply. She had never consented to receive
it, though she would have taken it, under stress, from Mrs. Pocock. But
it was a matter about which Mrs. Pocock appeared to have had little to
say--never sounding the word--and it didn't signify now. There was
nothing clearly for Maria Gostrey that signified now--save one sharp
point, tha