“No, I’ve done nothing yet.”
“Were you waiting to see me?”
“No, not that.”
“Only waiting”—and Chad, with this, had a smile for him—“to see Miss Gostrey?”
“No—not even Miss Gostrey. I wasn’t waiting to see any one. I had only waited, till now, to make up my mind—in complete solitude; and, since I of course absolutely owe you the information, was on the point of going out with it quite made up. Have therefore a little more patience with me. Remember,” Strether went on, “that that’s what you originally asked me to have. I’ve had it, you see, and you see what has come of it. Stay on with me.”
Chad looked grave. “How much longer?”
“Well, till I make you a sign. I can’t myself, you know, at the best, or at the worst, stay for ever. Let the Pococks come,” Strether repeated.
“Because it gains you time?”
“Yes—it gains me time.”
Chad, as if it still puzzled him, waited a minute. “You don’t want to get back to Mother?”