gold; patches of purple were in the gloom; objects all that caught, through the muslin, with their high rarity, the light of the low windows. Nothing was clear about them but that they were precious, and they brushed his ignorance with their contempt as a flower, in a liberty taken with him, might have been whisked under his nose. But after a full look at his hostess he knew none the less what most concerned him. The circle in which they stood together was warm with life, and every question between them would live there as nowhere else. A question came up as soon as they had spoken, for his answer, with a laugh, was quickly: “Well, they’ve got hold of me!” Much of their talk on this first occasion was his development of that truth. He was extraordinarily glad to see her, expressing to her frankly what she most showed him, that one might live for years without a blessing unsuspected, but that to know it at last for no more than three days was to need it or miss it for ever. She was the blessing that had now become his need, and what could prove it better than that without her he had lost himself? “What do you mean?” she asked with an absence of alarm that, correcting him as if he had mistaken the “period” of one of her pieces, gave him afresh a sense of her easy movement through the maze he had but begun to tread. “What in the name of all the Pococks have you managed to do?” “Why exactly the wrong thing. I’ve made a frantic friend of little Bilham.” “Ah that sort of thing was of the essence of your case and to have been allowed for from the first.” And it was only after this that, quite as a minor matter, she asked who in the world little Bilham might be. When she learned that he was a friend of Chad’s and living for the time in Chad’s rooms in Chad’s absence, quite as if acting in Chad’s spirit and serving Chad’s cause, she showed, however, more interest. “Should you mind my seeing him? Only once, you know,” she added. “Oh the oftener the better: he’s amusing—he’s original.” “He doesn’t shock you?” Miss Gostrey threw out. “Never in the world! We escape that with a perfection—! I feel it to be largely, no doubt, because I don’t half-understand him; but our _modus vivendi_ isn’t spoiled even by that. You must dine with me to meet him,” Strether went on. “Then you’ll see.’ “Are you giving dinners?” “Yes—there I am. That’s what I mean.” All her kindness wondered. “That you’re spending too much money?” “Dear no—they seem to cost so little. But that I do it to _them_. I ought to hold off.” She thought again—she laughed. “The money you must be spending to think it cheap! But I must be out of it—to the naked eye.” He looked for a moment as if she were really failing him. “Then you won’t meet them?” It was almost as if she had developed an unexpected personal prudence. She hesitated. “Who are they—first?” “Why little Bilham to begin with.” He kept back for the moment Miss Barrace. “And Chad—when he comes—you must absolutely see.”