indeed he himself was booked to Jim; was to take him that evening to the Varieties—which Strether was careful to pronounce as Jim pronounced them.
Miss Gostrey drank it in. "What then to-night do the others do?"
"Well, it has been arranged. Waymarsh takes Sarah to dine at Bignon's."
She wondered. "And what do they do after? They can't come straight home."
"No—they can't come straight home—at least Sarah can't. It's their secret, but I think I've guessed it." Then as she waited: "The circus."
It made her stare a moment longer, then laugh almost to extravagance. "There's no one like you!"
"Like me?"—he only wanted to understand.
"Like all of you together—like all of us: Woollett, Milrose and their products. We're abysmal—but long may we play our parts! Mr. Newsome," she continued, "meanwhile takes Miss Pocock———?"
"Precisely—to the Français: to see what you took Waymarsh and me to, a family-bill."
"Ah then, may Mr. Chad enjoy it as I did!" But she saw so much in things. "Do they spend their evenings, your young people, like that, alone together?"
"Well—they're young people, but they're old friends."
"I see, I see. And do they dine—for a difference—at Brebant's? "
"Oh, where they dine is their secret too. But I've my idea that it will be, very quietly, at Chad's own place."
"She'll come to him there alone?"
They looked at each other a moment. "He has known her from a child. Besides," said Strether, with emphasis, "Mamie's remarkable. She's splendid,"
She hesitated. "Do you mean she expects to bring it off?"
"Winning him over and making him her own? No, I think not."
"She doesn't want him enough?—or doesn't believe in her power?" On which, as he said nothing, she continued: "She finds she doesn't care for him?"
