"Well, I do look out. I am, after all, looking out. That's just why," our friend explained, "I want to see her again."
It drew from Chad again the same question. "To see mother?"
"To see—for the present—Sarah."
"Ah, then, there you are! And what I don't for the life of me make out," Chad pursued with resigned perplexity, "is what you gain by it."
Oh, it would have taken his companion too long to say! "That's because you've, I verily believe, no imagination. You've other qualities. But no imagination—don't you see?—at all."
"I dare say. I do see." It was an idea in which Chad showed interest. "But haven't you yourself rather too much?"
"Oh, rather———!" So that, after an instant, under this reproach and as if it were at last a fact really to escape from, Strether made his move for departure.
