RODERICK HUDSON
But since it strikes you, perhaps it 's true. It 's a great happiness; I would n't exchange it for a great deal of money."
"Yes, I suppose it 's a great happiness," said Rowland. "I shall really think of you as living here in a state of scandalous bliss. I don't feel it 's quite decent for an artist to know so well what he 's about."
Singleton stared a moment, as if he supposed his visitor in earnest; then with a vision of the kindly jest he walked about the room agitating his head and shyly laughing. "And Mr. Hudson?" he said as Rowland was going; "I hope he 's as great as ever."
"He 's very well—for him. He 's back at work again."
"Ah, there 's a man," cried Singleton, "who has taken his start once for all and does n't need to stop and ask himself in fear and trembling every month or two whether he 's going on. When he stops it 's to rest! And where did he spend the summer?"
"The greater part of it at Baden-Baden."
"Ah, that 's in the Black Forest," cried Singleton with profound simplicity. "They say you can make ripping studies of trees there."
"No doubt," said Rowland with a smile, laying an almost paternal hand on the little artist's stooping shoulders. "Unhappily trees are not Roderick's line. Nevertheless he tells me that at Baden he made some studies and I gather that they were, in a manner, ripping. Come when you can, by the way," he added after a moment, "to his studio, and tell me what you think of something he has lately begun."
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