It can't be vulgar or coarse, anyway—and that's the point."
"Yes, that's the point," said little Bilham.
"It can't be vulgar or coarse.
And, bless us and save us, it ISn't!
It's, upon my word, the very finest thing I ever saw in my life, and the most distinguished."
Strether, from beside him and leaning back with him as he leaned, dropped on him a momentary look which filled a short interval and of which he took no notice.
He only gazed before him with intent participation.
"Of course what it has done for him," Strether at all events presently pursued, "of course what it has done for him—that is as to HOW it has so wonderfully worked—isn't a thing I pretend to understand.
I've to take it as I find it.
There he is."
"There he is!" little Bilham echoed.
"And it's really and truly she.
I don't understand either, even with my longer and closer opportunity.
But I'm like you," he added; "I can admire and rejoice even when I'm a little in the dark.
You see I've watched it for some three years, and especially for this last.
He wasn't so bad before it as I seem to have made out that you think—"
"Oh I don't think anything now!" Strether impatiently broke in: "that is but what I DO think!
I mean that originally, for her to have cared for him—"
"There must have been stuff in him?
Oh yes, there was stuff indeed, and much more of it than ever showed, I dare say, at home.
Still, you know," the young man in all fairness developed, "there was room for her, and that's where she came in.
She saw her chance and took it.
That's what strikes me as having been so fine.
But of course," he wound up, "he liked her first."
"Naturally," said Strether.
"I mean that they first met somehow and somewhere—I believe in some American house—and she, without in the least then intending it, made her impression.
Then with time and opportunity he made his; and after THAT she was as bad as he."
Strether vaguely took it up. "As 'bad'?"
"She began, that is, to care—to care very much.
Alone, and in her horrid position, she found it, when once she had started, an interest.
It was, it is, an interest, and it did—it continues to do—a lot for herself as well.
So she still cares.
She cares in fact," said little Bilham thoughtfully "more."
Strether's theory that it was none of his business was somehow not damaged by the way he took this.
"More, you mean, than he?"
On which his companion looked round at him, and now for an instant their eyes met.
"More than he?" he repeated.
Little Bilham, for as long, hung fire.
"Will you never tell any one?"
Strether thought. "Whom should I tell?"
"Why I supposed you reported regularly—"
"To people at home?"—Strether took him up.
"Well, I won't tell them this."
The young man at last looked away. "Then she does now care more than he."
"Oh!" Strether oddly exclaimed.
But his companion immediately met it. "Haven't you after all had your impression of it?
That's how you've got hold of him."
"Ah but I haven't got hold of him!"
"Oh I say!" But it was all little Bilham said.
"It's at any rate none of my business.