I judge that it IS more or less so before you, from what you just now said of him."
Her guest had his eyes on her, kindly but attentively, as if foreseeing what was to follow this.
"I don't think it will be for the money."
And then as she seemed uncertain: "I mean I don't believe it will be for that he'll give her up."
"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 any one 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 verily 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 have been impossible to meet me more than he did last night on the question of the infamy of not sticking to her."
"Is that what you called it for him—'infamy'?"
"Oh rather!
I described to him in detail the base creature he'd be, and he quite agrees with me about it."
"So that it's really as if you had nailed him?"
"Quite really as if—!
I told him I should curse him."
"Oh," she smiled, "you HAVE done it."
And then having thought again: "You CAN'T after that propose—!"
Yet she scanned his face.
"Propose again to Mrs. Newsome?"
She hesitated afresh, but she brought it out.
"I've never believed, you know, that you did propose.
I always believed it was really she—and, so far as that goes, I can understand it.
What I mean is," she explained, "that with such a spirit—the spirit of curses!—your breach is past mending.
She has only to know what you've done to him never again to raise a finger."
"I've done," said Strether, "what I could—one can't do more.