His temporary absence moreover seemed, as never yet, to make the right moment for Miss Gostrey.

Strether had been waiting till tonight to get back from her in some mirrored form her impressions and conclusions.
She had elected, as they said, to see little Bilham once; but now she had seen him twice and had nevertheless not said more than a word.
Waymarsh meanwhile sat opposite him with their hostess between; and Miss Gostrey spoke of herself as an instructor of youth introducing her little charges to a work that was one of the glories of literature.

The glory was happily unobjectionable, and the little charges were candid; for herself she had travelled that road and she merely waited on their innocence.

But she referred in due time to their absent friend, whom it was clear they should have to give up.

"He either won't have got your note," she said, "or you won't have got his: he has had some kind of hindrance, and, of course, for that matter, you know, a man never writes about coming to a box." She spoke as if, with her look, it might have been Waymarsh who had written to the youth, and the latter's face showed a mixture of austerity and anguish.