RODERICK HUDSON
Light as she came forward and seized her daughter's hair. "Christina love, I'm more surprised than I can say."
"Is it indelicate?" Christina asked. "I beg Mr. Mallet's pardon." Mrs. Light gathered up the dusky locks and let them fall through her ringers, glancing at her visitor with a significant smile. Rowland had never been in the East, but if he had attempted to make a sketch of an old slave-merchant calling attention to the "points" of a Circassian beauty he would have depicted such a smile as Mrs. Light's. "Mamma's not really shocked," added Christina in a moment, as if she had guessed her mother's byplay. "She's only afraid that Mr. Hudson may have injured my hair and that, per conseguenza, I shall fetch a lower price."
"You unnatural child!" cried mamma. "You deserve that I should make a fright of you!" And with half a dozen skilful passes she twisted the tresses into a single picturesque braid, placed high on the head and producing the effect of a coronet.
"What does your mother do when she wants to do you justice?" Rowland enquired, observing the admirable line of the girl's neck and shoulder.
"I do her justice when I say she says very atrocious things. What's one to do with such a horrible handful?" Mrs. Light demanded.
"Think of it at your leisure, Mr. Mallet," said Christina, "and when you 've discovered some thing let us hear. But I must tell you that I shall not willingly believe in any remedy of yours, for you have something in the expression of your face that
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