 But charming.«
    »Do you know him?«
    »I've met him. He's bien aimable.«
    »To every one but his wife?«
    »Oh for all I know, to her too - to any, to every woman. I hope you at any
rate,« she pursued with a quick change, »appreciate the care I take of Mr.
Waymarsh.«
    »Oh immensely.« But Strether was not yet in line. »At all events,« he
roundly brought out, »the attachment's an innocent one.«
    »Mine and his? Ah,« she laughed, »don't rob it of all interest!«
    »I mean our friend's here - to the lady we've been speaking of.« That was
what he had settled to as an indirect but none the less closely involved
consequence of his impression of Jeanne. That was where he meant to stay. »It's
innocent,« he repeated - »I see the whole thing.«
    Mystified by his abrupt declaration, she had glanced over at Gloriani as at
the unnamed subject of his allusion, but the next moment she had understood;
though indeed not before Strether had noticed her momentary mistake and wondered
what might possibly be behind that too. He already knew that the sculptor
admired Madame de Vionnet; but did this admiration also represent an attachment
of which the innocence was discussable? He was moving verily in a strange air
and on ground not of the firmest. He looked hard for an instant at Miss Barrace,
but she had already gone on. »All right with Mr. Newsome? Why of course she is!«
- and she got gaily back to the question of her own good friend. »I dare say
you're surprised that I'm not worn out with all I see - it being so much! - of
Sitting Bull. But I'm not, you know - I don't mind him; I bear up, and we get on
beautifully. I'm very strange; I'm like that; and often I can't explain. There
are people who are supposed interesting or remarkable or whatever, and who bore
me to death; and then there are others as to whom nobody can understand what
anybody sees in them - in whom I see no end of things.« Then after she had
smoked a moment, »He's touching, you know,« she said.
    »Know?« Strether echoed - »don't I, indeed?
