What could it be, this disconcerting force, he asked himself, but the sense, constantly renewed, that Chad WAS--quite in fact insisted on being--as good as he thought?
It seemed somehow as if he couldn't BUT be as good from the moment he wasn't as bad.

There was a succession of days at all events when contact with him--and in its immediate effect, as if it could produce no other--elbowed out of Strether's consciousness everything but itself.

Little Bilham once more pervaded the scene, but little Bilham became even in a higher degree than he had originally been one of the numerous forms of the inclusive relation; a consequence promoted, to our friend's sense, by two or three incidents with which we have yet to make acquaintance.
Waymarsh himself, for the occasion, was drawn into the eddy; it absolutely, though but temporarily, swallowed him down, and there were days when Strether seemed to bump against him as a sinking swimmer might brush a submarine object.

The fathomless medium held them--Chad's manner was the fathomless medium; and our friend felt as if they passed each other, in their deep immersion, with the round impersonal eye of silent fish.

It was practically produced between them that Waymarsh was giving him then his chance; and the shade of discomfort that Strether drew from the allowance resembled not a little the embarrassment he had known at school, as a boy, when members of his family had been present at exhibitions.