"At any rate," he added, "she's
coming now."
Considering how many pieces had to fit themselves, it all fell, in
Strether's brain, into a close rapid order. He saw on the spot
what had happened, and what probably would yet; and it was all
funny enough. It was perhaps just this freedom of appreciation
that wound him up to his flare of high spirits. "What is she
coming FOR?--to kill me?"
"She's coming to be very VERY kind to you, and you must let me say
that I greatly hope you'll not be less so to herself."
This was spoken by Waymarsh with much gravity of admonition, and as
Strether stood there he knew he had but to make a movement to take
the attitude of a man gracefully receiving a present. The present
was that of the opportunity dear old Waymarsh had flattered himself
he had divined in him the slight soreness of not having yet
thoroughly enjoyed; so he had brought it to him thus, as on a
little silver breakfast-tray, familiarly though delicately--without
oppressive pomp; and he was to bend and smile and acknowledge, was
to take and use and be grateful. He was not--that was the beauty
of it--to be asked to deflect too much from his dignity. No wonder
the old boy bloomed in this bland air of his own distillation.
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