"Then he will give her up?"
Strether waited a moment, rather slow and deliberate now, drawing out a little this last soft stage, pleading with her in various suggestive and unspoken ways for patience and understanding. "What were you just about to ask me?"
"Is there anything he can do that would make you patch it up?"
"With Mrs. Newsome?"
Her assent, as if she had had a delicacy about sounding the name, was only in her face; but she added with it: "Or is there anything he can do that would make her try it?"
"To patch it up with me?" His answer came at last in a conclusive headshake. "There's nothing anyone can do. It's over. Over for both of us."
Maria wondered, seemed a little to doubt. "Are you so sure for her?"
"Oh yes—sure now. Too much has happened. I'm different for her."
She took it in then, drawing a deeper breath. "I see. So that as she's different for you———"
"Ah, but," he interrupted, "she's not." And as Miss Gostrey wondered again: "She's the same. She's more than ever the same. But I do what I didn't before—I see her."
He spoke gravely and as if responsibly—since he had to pronounce; and the effect of it was slightly solemn, so that she simply exclaimed "Oh!" Satisfied and grateful, however, she showed in her own next words an acceptance of his statement. "What then do you go home to?"
He had pushed his plate a little away, occupied with another side of the matter; taking refuge, in fact, in that side and feeling so moved that he soon found himself on his feet. He was affected in advance by what he believed might come from her, and he would have liked to forestall it and deal with it tenderly; yet in the presence of it he wished still more to be—though as smoothly as possible—deterrent and conclusive. He put her question by for the moment; he told her more about Chad. "It would
