“I see—I see.” Her eagerness broke through.
“How can I thank you enough?” He couldn’t tell her that, however, and she quickly pursued. “You do really, for yourself, consider it?”
His only answer at first was to help her to the dish that had been freshly put before them. “I’ve written to her again since then—I’ve left her in no doubt of what I think. I’ve told her all about you.”
“Thanks—not so much. ‘All about’ me,” she went on—“yes.”
“All it seems to me you’ve done for him.”
“Ah and you might have added all it seems to me!” She laughed again, while she took up her knife and fork, as in the cheer of these assurances. “But you’re not sure how she’ll take it.”
“No, I’ll not pretend I’m sure.”
“Voilà.” And she waited a moment. “I wish you’d tell me about her.”
“Oh,” said Strether with a slightly strained smile, “all that need concern you about her is that she’s really a grand person.”
Madame de Vionnet seemed to demur. “Is that all that need concern me about her?”