There she was at all events—and it was very interesting. Her knowing Mr. Chad didn’t in the least prove she hadn’t friends; what it proved was what good ones _he_ had. “I saw that,” said Miss Gostrey, “that night at the Français; it came out for me in three minutes. I saw _her_—or somebody like her. And so,” she immediately added, “did you.” “Oh no—not anybody like her!” Strether laughed. “But you mean,” he as promptly went on, “that she has had such an influence on him?” Miss Gostrey was on her feet; it was time for them to go. “She has brought him up for her daughter.” Their eyes, as so often, in candid conference, through their settled glasses, met over it long; after which Strether’s again took in the whole place. They were quite alone there now. “Mustn’t she rather—in the time then—have rushed it?” “Ah she won’t of course have lost an hour. But that’s just the good mother—the good French one. You must remember that of her—that as a mother she’s French, and that for them there’s a special providence. It precisely however—that she mayn’t have been able to begin as far back as she’d have liked—makes her grateful for aid.” Strether took this in as they slowly moved to the house on their way out. “She counts on me then to put the thing through?” “Yes—she counts on you. Oh and first of all of course,” Miss Gostrey added, “on her—well, convincing you.” “Ah,” her friend returned, “she caught Chad young!” “Yes, but there are women who are for all your ‘times of life.’ They’re the most wonderful sort.” She had laughed the words out, but they brought her companion, the next thing, to a stand. “Is what you mean that she’ll try to make a fool of me?” “Well, I’m wondering what she _will_—with an opportunity—make.” “What do you call,” Strether asked, “an opportunity? My going to see her?” “Ah you must go to see her”—Miss Gostrey was a trifle evasive. “You can’t not do that. You’d have gone to see the other woman. I mean if there had been one—a different sort. It’s what you came out for.” It might be; but Strether distinguished. “I didn’t come out to see _this_ sort.” She had a wonderful look at him now. “Are you disappointed she isn’t worse?” He for a moment entertained the question, then found for it the frankest of answers. “Yes. If she were worse she’d be better for our purpose. It would be simpler.” “Perhaps,” she admitted. “But won’t this be pleasanter?” “Ah you know,” he promptly replied, “I didn’t come out—wasn’t that just what you originally reproached me with?—for the pleasant.” “Precisely. Therefore I say again what I said at first. You must take things as they come. Besides,” Miss Gostrey added, “I’m not afraid for myself.” “For yourself—?” “Of your seeing her. I trust her. There’s nothing she’ll say about me. In fact there’s nothing she _can_.” Strether wondered—little as he had thought of this. Then he broke out. “Oh you women!”