understood and approved; he had the sense that they wouldn’t otherwise speak of it. This would be all, and it would mark in himself a kind of intelligent generosity. It was with grim Sarah then—Sarah grim for all her grace—that Waymarsh had begun at ten o’clock in the morning to save him. Well—if he _could_, poor dear man, with his big bleak kindness! The upshot of which crowded perception was that Strether, on his own side, still showed no more than he absolutely had to. He showed the least possible by saying to Mrs. Pocock after an interval much briefer than our glance at the picture reflected in him: “Oh it’s as true as they please!—There’s no Miss Gostrey for any one but me—not the least little peep. I keep her to myself.” “Well, it’s very good of you to notify me,” Sarah replied without looking at him and thrown for a moment by this discrimination, as the direction of her eyes showed, upon a dimly desperate little community with Madame de Vionnet. “But I hope I shan’t miss her too much.” Madame de Vionnet instantly rallied. “And you know—though it might occur to one—it isn’t in the least that he’s ashamed of her. She’s really—in a way—extremely good-looking.” “Ah but extremely!” Strether laughed while he wondered at the odd part he found thus imposed on him. It continued to be so by every touch from Madame de Vionnet. “Well, as I say, you know, I wish you would keep _me_ a little more to yourself. Couldn’t you name some day for me, some hour—and better soon than late? I’ll be at home whenever it best suits you. There—I can’t say fairer.” Strether thought a moment while Waymarsh and Mrs. Pocock affected him as standing attentive. “I did lately call on you. Last week—while Chad was out of town.” “Yes—and I was away, as it happened, too. You choose your moments well. But don’t wait for my next absence, for I shan’t make another,” Madame de Vionnet declared, “while Mrs. Pocock’s here.” “That vow needn’t keep you long, fortunately,” Sarah observed with reasserted suavity. “I shall be at present but a short time in Paris. I have my plans for other countries. I meet a number of charming friends”—and her voice seemed to caress that description of these persons. “Ah then,” her visitor cheerfully replied, “all the more reason! To-morrow, for instance, or next day?” she continued to Strether. “Tuesday would do for me beautifully.” “Tuesday then with pleasure.” “And at half-past five?—or at six?” It was ridiculous, but Mrs. Pocock and Waymarsh struck him as fairly waiting for his answer. It was indeed as if they were arranged, gathered for a performance, the performance of “Europe” by his confederate and himself. Well, the performance could only go on. “Say five forty-five.” “Five forty-five—good.” And now at last Madame de Vionnet must leave them, though it carried, for herself, the performance a little further. “I _did_ hope so much also to see Miss Pocock. Mayn’t I still?”