RODERICK HUDSON
The humility of her tone, combined with her beauty as she made this remark, was inexpressibly touching, and Rowland had an uncomfortable sense of being put at a disadvantage. "There are doubtless many good things you might do if you had proper opportunity," he said. "But you seem to be sailing with a current which leaves you little leisure for quiet benevolence. You live in the whirl and hurry of a world into which a poor artist can hardly find it to his advantage to follow you."
"In plain English I'm odiously frivolous. You put it very generously."
"I won't hesitate to say all my thought," said Row land. "For better or worse you seem to me to belong both by character and by destiny to what is called the world, the 'great,' the dangerous, the delightful world. You 're made to ornament it magnificently—you 're made to charm it irresistibly. You 're not made to be an artist's wife."
"I see. But even from your point of view that would depend upon the artist. Extraordinary talent might take him into the wonderful place you speak of."
Rowland smiled. "That's very true."
"If, as it is," Christina continued in a moment, "you take a low view of me—no, you need n't protest! I wonder what you would think if you knew certain things."
"What things do you mean?"
"Well, for example, how I was brought up. I 've had a horrid vulgar life. There must be some good in me, since I 've perceived it, since I 've turned and judged my circumstances."
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