He WAS a success, Waymarsh, in spite of overwork, or prostration, of sensible shrinkage, of his wife's letters and of his not liking Europe.

Strether would have reckoned his own career less futile had he been able to put into it anything so handsome as so much fine silence.

One might one's self easily have left Mrs.
Waymarsh; and one would assuredly have paid one's tribute to the ideal in covering with that attitude the derision of having been left by her.
Her husband had held his tongue and had made a large income; and these were in especial the achievements as to which Strether envied him.

Our friend had had indeed on his side too a subject for silence, which he fully appreciated; but it was a matter of a different sort, and the figure of the income he had arrived at had never been high enough to look any one in the face.
"I don't know as I quite see what you require it for.

You don't appear sick to speak of." It was of Europe Waymarsh thus finally spoke.
"Well," said Strether, who fell as much as possible into step, "I guess I don't FEEL sick now that I've started.