She thought. “But with your wonderful impressions you’ll have got a great deal.” “A great deal”—he agreed. “But nothing like _you_. It’s you who would make me wrong!” Honest and fine, she couldn’t greatly pretend she didn’t see it. Still she could pretend just a little. “But why should you be so dreadfully right?” “That’s the way that—if I must go—you yourself would be the first to want me. And I can’t do anything else.” So then she had to take it, though still with her defeated protest. “It isn’t so much your _being_ ‘right’—it’s your horrible sharp eye for what makes you so.” “Oh but you’re just as bad yourself. You can’t resist me when I point that out.” She sighed it at last all comically, all tragically, away. “I can’t indeed resist you.” “Then there we are!” said Strether.