"because when I hear you wail to go back I seem to see you open up such possibilities of folly."
Waymarsh took it—silent a little—like a large snubbed child. "What are you going to do with me?"
It was the very question Strether himself had put to Miss Gostrey, and he wondered if he had sounded like that. But he at least could be more definite. "I'm going to take you right down to London."
"Oh, I've been down to London!" Waymarsh more softly moaned. "I've no use, Strether, for anything down there."
"Well," said Strether good-humouredly, "I guess you've some use for me."
"So I've got to go?"
"Oh, you've got to go further yet."
"Well," Waymarsh sighed, "do your damnedest! Only you will tell me before you lead me on all the way———?"
Our friend had again so lost himself, both for amusement and for contrition, in the wonder of whether he had made, in his own challenge that afternoon, such another figure, that he for an instant missed the thread. "Tell you———?"
"Why, what you've got on hand."
Strether hesitated. "Why, it's such a matter as that, even if I positively wanted, I shouldn't be able to keep it from you."
Waymarsh gloomily gazed. "What does that mean, then, but that your trip is just for her?"
"For Mrs. Newsome? Oh, it certainly is, as I say. Very much."
"Then why do you also say it's for me?"
Strether, in impatience, violently played with his latch. "It's simple enough. It's for both of you."
Waymarsh at last turned over with a groan. "Well, I won't marry you!"
"Neither, when it comes to that———!" But Strether had already laughed and escaped.
