Chad had risked it jocosely, but Strether remained blank. “Enough?”
“If one should wish to live on one’s accumulations?” After which, however, as his friend appeared cold to the joke, the young man as easily dropped it. “Of course I really never forget, night or day, what I owe her. I owe her everything. I give you my word of honour,” he frankly rang out, “that I’m not a bit tired of her.” Strether at this only gave him a stare: the way youth could express itself was again and again a wonder. He meant no harm, though he might after all be capable of much; yet he spoke of being “tired” of her almost as he might have spoken of being tired of roast mutton for dinner. “She has never for a moment yet bored me—never been wanting, as the cleverest women sometimes are, in tact. She has never talked about her tact—as even they too sometimes talk; but she has always had it. She has never had it more”—he handsomely made the point—“than just lately.” And he scrupulously went further. “She has never been anything I could call a burden.”
Strether for a moment said nothing; then he spoke gravely, with his shade of dryness deepened. “Oh if you didn’t do her justice—!”
“I should be a beast, eh?”
Strether devoted no time to saying what he would be; that, visibly, would take them far. If there was nothing for it but to repeat, however, repetition was no mistake. “You owe her everything—very much more than she can ever owe you. You’ve in other words duties to her, of the most positive sort; and I don’t see what other duties—as the others are presented to you—can be held to go before them.”
Chad looked at him with a smile. “And you know of course about the others, eh?—since it’s you yourself who have done the presenting.”
“Much of it—yes—and to the best of my ability. But not all—from the moment your sister took my place.”
“She didn’t,” Chad returned. “Sally took a place, certainly; but it was never, I saw from the first moment, to be yours. No one—with us—will ever take yours. It wouldn’t be possible.”
“Ah of course,” sighed Strether, “I knew it. I believe you’re right. No one in the world, I imagine, was ever so portentously solemn. There I am,” he added with another sigh, as if weary enough, on occasion, of this truth. “I was made so.”
Chad appeared for a little to consider the way he was made; he might for this purpose have measured him up and down. His conclusion favoured the fact. “You have never needed any one to make you better. There has never been any one good enough. They couldn’t,” the young man declared.