RODERICK HUDSON
She had hardly spoken when the sound of a short sharp growl caused the company to turn. Christina's pompous poodle stood in the middle of the great drawing-room with his nose raised as if to sniff conspiracy. He had preceded his mistress as the sharpest of scouts, and she now slowly advanced from a neighbouring place.
"You will be so good as to listen to Mr. Mallet," her mother promptly rang out, "and to reflect carefully on what he says. I suppose you 'll admit that he 's disinterested. In half an hour you shall hear from me again!" And her retreat with her companion might have been the march of a squad that has changed guard.
Christina looked hard at Rowland, but offered him no greeting. She was very pale, and, strangely enough, it at first seemed to Rowland that her beauty was in eclipse. But he recognised more than ever that its shadows were as fine as its lights and that attempted discussion would always have it to reckon with. "Why have you come here at this time?" she asked.
"Your mother sent for me in pressing terms, and I was very glad to have an opportunity to speak to you."
"Have you come to help me or to worry me?"
"I 've as little power to do one as I 've desire to do the other. I came in great part to ask you a question. First, is your determination absolutely taken?"
Christina's two hands had been hanging clasped in front of her; she separated them and flung them apart by an admirable gesture.
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