rather gravely wondered. "However," he went on, "his marriage is what his mother most desires—that is if it will help. And oughtn't any marriage to help? They must want him"—he had already worked it out—"to be better off. Almost any girl he may marry will have a direct interest in his taking up his chances. It won't suit her at least that he shall miss them."
Miss Gostrey debated. "No—you reason well! But of course, on the other hand, there's always dear old Woollett itself."
"Oh yes," he mused, "there's always dear old Woollett itself."
She waited a moment. "The young lady mayn't find herself able to swallow that quantity. She may think it's paying too much. She may weigh one thing against another."
Strether, ever restless in these councils, took a turn about. "It will all depend on who she is. That of course—the proved ability to deal with dear old Woollett, since I'm sure she does deal with it!—is what makes so strongly for Mamie."
"Mamie?"
He stopped short, at her tone, before her; then, though seeing that it represented not vagueness, but a momentary embarrassed fulness, he let his exclamation come. "You surely haven't forgotten about Mamie!"
"No, I haven't forgotten about Mamie," she smiled. "There's no doubt whatever that there's ever so much to be said for her. Mamie's my girl!" she roundly declared.
Strether resumed for a minute his walk. "She's really perfectly lovely, you know; far prettier than any girl I've seen over here yet."
"That's precisely on what I perhaps most build." And she mused a moment in her friend's way. "I should positively like to take her in hand!"
He humoured the fancy, though indeed finally to deprecate it. "Oh, but don't, in your zeal, go over to her! I need you most and can't, you know, be left."
But she kept it up. "If only, for the excellent use I could make of her, they would send her out to me!"
"If they knew you," he returned, "they would."
