"Ah that's just what--if he buys anything--I'm afraid of: that Ishall see something rather dreadful."
Strether studied the finer appearances."He may buy everything.""Then don't you think we ought to follow him?""Not for worlds.Besides we can't.We're paralysed.We exchange a long scared look, we publicly tremble.The thing is, you see, we 'realise.' He has struck for *******."She wondered but she laughed."Ah what a price to pay! And I was preparing some for him so cheap.""No, no," Strether went on, frankly amused now; "don't call it that: the kind of ******* you deal in is dear." Then as to justify himself: "Am I not in MY way trying it? It's this.""Being here, you mean, with me?''
"Yes, and talking to you as I do.I've known you a few hours, and I've known HIM all my life; so that if the ease I thus take with you about him isn't magnificent"--and the thought of it held him a moment--"why it's rather base.""It's magnificent!" said Miss Gostrey to make an end of it."And you should hear," she added, "the ease I take--and I above all intend to take--with Mr.Waymarsh."Strether thought."About ME? Ah that's no equivalent.
The equivalent would be Waymarsh's himself serving me up--his remorseless analysis of me.And he'll never do that"--he was sadly clear."He'll never remorselessly analyse me."He quite held her with the authority of this."He'll never say a word to you about me."She took it in; she did it justice; yet after an instant her reason, her restless irony, disposed of it."Of course he won't.
For what do you take people, that they're able to say words about anything, able remorselessly to analyse? There are not many like you and me.It will be only because he's too stupid."It stirred in her friend a sceptical echo which was at the same time the protest of the faith of years."Waymarsh stupid?""Compared with you."
Strether had still his eyes on the jeweller's front, and he waited a moment to answer."He's a success of a kind that I haven't approached.""Do you mean he has made money?"
"He makes it--to my belief.And I," said Strether, "though with a back quite as bent, have never made anything.I'm a perfectly equipped failure."He feared an instant she'd ask him if he meant he was poor; and he was glad she didn't, for he really didn't know to what the truth on this unpleasant point mightn't have prompted her.She only, however, confirmed his assertion."Thank goodness you're a failure--it's why I so distinguish you! Anything else to-day is too hideous.Look about you--look at the successes.Would you BE one, on your honour? Look, moreover," she continued, "at me."For a little accordingly their eyes met."I see," Strether returned."You too are out of it.""The superiority you discern in me," she concurred, "announces my futility.If you knew," she sighed, "the dreams of my youth! But our realities are what has brought us together.We're beaten brothers in arms."He smiled at her kindly enough, but he shook his head."It doesn't alter the fact that you're expensive.You've cost me already--!"But he had hung fire."Cost you what?"
"Well, my past--in one great lump.But no matter," he laughed:
"I'll pay with my last penny."
Her attention had unfortunately now been engaged by their comrade's return, for Waymarsh met their view as he came out of his shop."Ihope he hasn't paid," she said, "with HIS last; though I'm convinced he has been splendid, and has been so for you.""Ah no--not that!"
"Then for me?"
"Quite as little." Waymarsh was by this time near enough to show signs his friend could read, though he seemed to look almost carefully at nothing in particular.
"Then for himself?"
"For nobody.For nothing.For *******.""But what has ******* to do with it?"
Strether's answer was indirect."To be as good as you and me.But different."She had had time to take in their companion's face; and with it, as such things were easy for her, she took in all."Different--yes.
But better!"
If Waymarsh was sombre he was also indeed almost sublime.He told them nothing, left his absence unexplained, and though they were convinced he had made some extraordinary purchase they were never to learn its nature.He only glowered grandly at the tops of the old gables."It's the sacred rage," Strether had had further time to say; and this sacred rage was to become between them, for convenient comprehension, the description of one of his periodical necessities.It was Strether who eventually contended that it did make him better than they.But by that time Miss Gostrey was convinced that she didn't want to be better than Strether.
