he was too a cute not to read that into it

"The real reason is that you're not Nick" was what she wouldhave said to Strefford if she had dared to set down the baretruth; and she knew that, whatever she wrote, he was too a cute not to read that into it. 　　"He'll think it's because I'm still in love with Nick ... andperhaps I am. But even if I were, the difference doesn't seemto lie there, after all, but deeper, in things we've shared thatseem to be meant to outlast love, or to change it into somethingdifferent." If she could have hoped to make Streffordunderstand that, the letter would have been easy enough towrite--but she knew just at what point his imagination wouldfail, in what obvious and superficial inferences it would rest"Poor Streff--poor me!" she thought as she sealed the letter. 　　After she had despatched it a sense of blankness descended onher. She had succeeded in driving from her mind all vainhesitations, doubts, returns upon herself: her healthy systemnaturally rejected them. But they left a queer emptiness inwhich her thoughts rattled about as thoughts might, shesupposed, in the first moments after death--before one got usedto it. To get used to being dead: that seemed to be herimmediate business. And she felt such a novice at it--felt sohorribly alive! How had those others learned to do withoutliving? Nelson--well, he was still in the throes; and probablynever would understand, or be able to communicate, the lessonwhen he had mastered it. But Grace Fulmer--she suddenlyremembered that Grace was in Paris, and set forth to find her. Chapter 24     NICK LANSING had walked out a long way into the Campagna. Hishours were seldom his own, for both Mr. and Mrs. Hicks werebecoming more and more addicted to sudden and somewhat imperiousdemands upon his time; but on this occasion he had simplyslipped away after luncheon, and taking the tram to the PortaSalaria, had wandered on thence in the direction of the PonteNomentano.