"Oh of course I
saw she was hit. That she was hit was what we were busy with; that
she was hit was our great affair. But somehow I couldn't think of
her as down in the dust. And as put there by OUR little Chad!"
"Yet wasn't 'your' little Chad just your miracle?"
Strether admitted it. "Of course I moved among miracles. It was
all phantasmagoric. But the great fact was that so much of it was
none of my business--as I saw my business. It isn't even now."
His companion turned away on this, and it might well have been yet
again with the sharpness of a fear of how little his philosophy
could bring her personally. "I wish SHE could hear you!"
"Mrs. Newsome?"
"No--not Mrs. Newsome; since I understand you that it doesn't
matter now what Mrs. Newsome hears. Hasn't she heard
everything?"
"Practically--yes." He had thought a moment, but he went on. "You
wish Madame de Vionnet could hear me?"
"Madame de Vionnet." She had come back to him. "She thinks just
the contrary of what you say. That you distinctly judge her."
He turned over the scene as the two women thus placed together for
him seemed to give it. "She might have known--!"
"Might have known you don't?" Miss Gostrey asked as he let it drop.
Pages:
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680