"Mamie is one of the real and the right." "The very thing itself." "And what it comes to then," Strether went on, "is that poor awful Chad is simply too good for her." "Ah too good was what he was after all to be; but it was she herself, and she herself only, who was to have made him so." It hung beautifully together, but with still a loose end.

"Wouldn't he do for her even if he should after all break--" "With his actual influence ?" Oh little Bilham had for this enquiry the sharpest of all his controls.

"How can he 'do'-- on any terms whatever--when he's flagrantly spoiled ?" Strether could only meet the question with his passive, his receptive pleasure.

"Well, thank goodness, YOU'RE not! You remain for her to save, and I come back, on so beautiful and full a demonstration, to my contention of just now--that of your showing distinct signs of her having already begun." The most he could further say to himself--as his young friend turned away--was that the charge encountered for the moment no renewed denial.
Little Bilham, taking his course back to the music, only shook his good-natured ears an instant, in the manner of a terrier who has got wet; while Strether relapsed into the sense--which had for him in these days most of comfort--that he was free to believe in anything that from hour to hour kept him going.

He had positively motions and flutters of this conscious hour-to-hour kind, temporary surrenders to irony, to fancy, frequent instinctive snatches at the growing rose of observation, constantly stronger for him, as he felt, in scent and colour, and in which he could bury his nose even to wantonness.