RODERICK HUDSON
tributed to the crude heretic in the great Catholic temples. "Mary dear," she whispered, "suppose we had to kiss that dreadful brass toe. If I could only have kept our door-knocker at Northampton as bright as that! I think it 's heathenish, but Roderick says he thinks it 's sublime."
Roderick had evidently grown a trifle perverse. "It 's sublimer than anything that your religion asks you to do!"
"Surely our religion sometimes gives us very difficult duties," said Mary.
"The duty of sitting in a whitewashed meeting house and listening to a nasal Puritan! I admit that 's difficult. But it 's not sublime. I 'm speak ing of ceremonies, of magnificent forms. It 's in my line, you know, to make much of magnificent forms. I think this a very interesting case of a grand form. Could n't you do it?" he demanded, looking at his cousin. She looked back at him intently and then shook her head. "I think not!"
"Why not?"
"I don't know. I couldn't!"
During this little discussion our four friends were standing near the venerable image of the genius loci, and a squalid, savage-looking peasant, a tattered ruffian of the most orthodox Italian aspect, had been performing his devotions before it. He turned away crossing himself, and Mrs. Hudson gave a little shudder of horror.
"After that," she murmured, "I suppose he thinks
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