THE   AMBASSADORS
parquets, pale shades of pink and green, pseudo-classic candelabra
he had always needfully to reckon with. They could easily make
him irrelevant. The oddity, the originality, the poetry-he didn't
know what to call it—of Chad's connection reaffirmed for him its
romantic side. "They ought to see this, you know. They
must."
"The Pococks?"-she looked about in deprecation; she seemed
to see gaps he didn't.
" Mamie and Sarah—Mamie in particular."
" My shabby old place ?   But their things— !"
"Oh, their things! You were talking of what wiU do something
for you—"
"So that it strikes you," she broke in, "that my poor place may?
Oh,   she ruefully mused, " that would be desperate!"
"Do you know what I wish?" he went on. "I wish Mrs. New-
some herself could have a look."
She stared, missing a little his logic. "It would make a dif-
ference ?"
Her tone was so earnest that, as he continued to look about, he
laughed.   " It might !"
" But you've told her, you tell me—"
"All about you? Yes, a wonderful story. But there's all the in-
describable—what one gets only on the spot."
" Thank you !" she charmingly and sadly smiled.
"It's all about me here," he freely continued. "Mrs. Newsome
feels things."
But she seemed doomed, always, to come back to doubt. " No
one feels so much as you.   No—no one."
" So much the worse then for every one.   It's very easy."
They were by this time in the antechamber, still alone together
as she had not rung for a servant. The antechamber was high and
square, grave and suggestive too, a little cold and slippery even in
summer, and with a few old prints that were precious, Strether
divined, on the walls. He stood in the middle, slightly lingering
vaguely directing his glasses, while, leaning against the door-post
oi the room, she gently pressed her cheek to the side of the recess
J ou would have been a friend."
"I?"—it startled him a little.
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