But I do prevent him all the same--and if you saw what he sometimes selects--from buying.

I save him hundreds and hundreds.

I only take flowers." "Flowers ?" Strether echoed again with a rueful reflexion.

How many nosegays had her present converser sent?
"Innocent flowers," she pursued, "as much as he likes.

And he sends me splendours; he knows all the best places--he has found them for himself; he's wonderful." "He hasn't told them to me," her friend smiled, "he has a life of his own." But Strether had swung back to the consciousness that for himself after all it never would have done.