Within three days, precisely, the situation on which he was to report had shown signs of an equilibrium; the effect of his look in at the hotel was to confirm this appearance. If the equilibrium might only prevail! Sarah was out with Waymarsh, Mamie was out with Chad, and Jim was out alone. Later on indeed he himself was booked to Jim, was to take him that evening to the Varieties—which Strether was careful to pronounce as Jim pronounced them. Miss Gostrey drank it in. “What then to-night do the others do?” “Well, it has been arranged. Waymarsh takes Sarah to dine at Bignon’s.” She wondered. “And what do they do after? They can’t come straight home.” “No, they can’t come straight home—at least Sarah can’t. It’s their secret, but I think I’ve guessed it.” Then as she waited: “The circus.” It made her stare a moment longer, then laugh almost to extravagance. “There’s no one like you!” “Like _me?_”—he only wanted to understand. “Like all of you together—like all of us: Woollett, Milrose and their products. We’re abysmal—but may we never be less so! Mr. Newsome,” she continued, “meanwhile takes Miss Pocock—?” “Precisely—to the Français: to see what _you_ took Waymarsh and me to, a family-bill.” “Ah then may Mr. Chad enjoy it as _I_ did!” But she saw so much in things. “Do they spend their evenings, your young people, like that, alone together?” “Well, they’re young people—but they’re old friends.” “I see, I see. And do _they_ dine—for a difference—at Brébant’s?” “Oh where they dine is their secret too. But I’ve my idea that it will be, very quietly, at Chad’s own place.” “She’ll come to him there alone?” They looked at each other a moment. “He has known her from a child. Besides,” said Strether with emphasis, “Mamie’s remarkable. She’s splendid.” She wondered. “Do you mean she expects to bring it off?” “Getting hold of him? No—I think not.” “She doesn’t want him enough?—or doesn’t believe in her power?” On which as he said nothing she continued: “She finds she doesn’t care for him?” “No—I think she finds she does. But that’s what I mean by so describing her. It’s _if_ she does that she’s splendid. But we’ll see,” he wound up, “where she comes out.” “You seem to show me sufficiently,” Miss Gostrey laughed, “where she goes in! But is her childhood’s friend,” she asked, “permitting himself recklessly to flirt with her?” “No—not that. Chad’s also splendid. They’re _all_ splendid!” he declared with a sudden strange sound of wistfulness and envy. “They’re at least _happy_.” “Happy?”—it appeared, with their various difficulties, to surprise her. “Well—I seem to myself among them the only one who isn’t.” She demurred. “With your constant tribute to the ideal?” He had a laugh at his tribute to the ideal, but he explained after a moment his impression. “I mean they’re living. They’re rushing about. I’ve already had my rushing. I’m waiting.” “But aren’t you,” she asked by way of cheer, “waiting with _me?_”