 yearning. Something deep - something built on their old old relation
- passed, in this complexity, between them; he got the side-wind of a loyalty
that stood behind all actual queer questions. Waymarsh's dry bare humour - as it
gave itself to be taken - gloomed out to demand justice. »Well, if you talk of
Miss Barrace I've my chance too,« it appeared stiffly to nod, and it granted
that it was giving him away, but struggled to add that it did so only to save
him. The sombre glow stared it at him till it fairly sounded out - »to save you,
poor old man, to save you; to save you in spite of yourself.« Yet it was somehow
just this communication that showed him to himself as more than ever lost. Still
another result of it was to put before him as never yet that between his comrade
and the interest represented by Sarah there was already a basis. Beyond all
question now, yes: Waymarsh had been in occult relation with Mrs. Newsome - out,
out it all came in the very effort of his face. »Yes, you're feeling my hand« -
he as good as proclaimed it; »but only because this at least I shall have got
out of the damned Old World: that I shall have picked up the pieces into which
it has caused you to crumble.« It was as if in short, after an instant, Strether
had not only had it from him, but had recognised that so far as this went the
instant had cleared the air. Our friend understood and approved; he had the
sense that they wouldn't otherwise speak of it. This would be all, and it would
mark in himself a kind of intelligent generosity. It was with grim Sarah then -
Sarah grim for all her grace - that Waymarsh had begun at ten o'clock in the
morning to save him. Well - if he could, poor dear man, with his big bleak
kindness! The upshot of which crowded perception was that Strether, on his own
side, still showed no more than he absolutely had to. He showed the least
possible by saying to Mrs. Pocock after an interval much briefer than our glance
at the picture reflected in him: »Oh it's as true as they please! - There's no
Miss Gostrey for any one but me - not the least little peep. I keep her to
myself.«
    »Well, it's very good of you to notify me,« Sarah replied without looking
