 over and show her what you've done,
and let him plead with her there for it and, as it were, for you.«
    She measured the depth of this suggestion. »Do you give me your word of
honour that if she once has him there she won't do her best to marry him?«
    It made her companion, this enquiry, look again a while out at the view;
after which he spoke without sharpness. »When she sees for herself what he is -«
    But she had already broken in. »It's when she sees for herself what he is
that she'll want to marry him most.«
    Strether's attitude, that of due deference to what she said, permitted him
to attend for a minute to his luncheon. »I doubt if that will come off. It won't
be easy to make it.«
    »It will be easy if he remains there - and he'll remain for the money. The
money appears to be, as a probability, so hideously much.«
    »Well,« Strether presently concluded, »nothing could really hurt you but his
marrying.«
    She gave a strange light laugh. »Putting aside what may really hurt him.«
    But her friend looked at her as if he had thought of that too. »The question
will come up, of course, of the future that you yourself offer him.«
    She was leaning back now, but she fully faced him. »Well, let it come up!«
    »The point is that it's for Chad to make of it what he can. His being proof
against marriage will show what he does make.«
    »If he is proof, yes« - she accepted the proposition. »But for myself,« she
added, »the question is what you make.«
    »Ah I make nothing. It's not my affair.«
    »I beg your pardon. It's just there that, since you've taken it up and are
committed to it, it most intensely becomes yours. You're not saving me, I take
it, for your interest in myself, but for your interest in our friend. The one's
at any rate wholly dependent on the other. You can't in honour not see me
through,« she wound up, »because you can't in honour not see him.«
    Strange and beautiful to him was her quiet soft acuteness. The thing that
most moved him was really that she was so
