Don't be afraid; you'll be satisfied." Thus
she could talk to him of what, of her innermost life--for that was
what it came to--he must "accept"; thus she could extraordinarily
speak as if in such an affair his being satisfied had an
importance. It was all a wonder and made the whole case larger. He
had struck himself at the hotel, before Sarah and Waymarsh, as
being in her boat; but where on earth was he now? This question was
in the air till her own lips quenched it with another. "And do you
suppose HE--who loves her so--would do anything reckless or cruel?"
He wondered what he supposed. "Do you mean your young man--?"
"I mean yours. I mean Mr. Newsome." It flashed for Strether the
next moment a finer light, and the light deepened as she went on.
"He takes, thank God, the truest tenderest interest in her."
It deepened indeed. "Oh I'm sure of that!"
"You were talking," she said, "about one's trusting him. You see
then how I do."
He waited a moment--it all came. "I see--I see." He felt he really
did see.
"He wouldn't hurt her for the world, nor--assuming she marries at
all--risk anything that might make against her happiness. And--
willingly, at least--he would never hurt ME."
Her face, with what he had by this time grasped, told him more than
her words; whether something had come into it, or whether he only read
clearer, her whole story--what at least he then took for such--reached
out to him from it.
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