RODERICK HUDSON
of genius was as much in them as in the famous Homeric nod. His interest in Mary's relations with her cousin had lost meanwhile none of its point, though mystified as he was on all sides he found nothing penetrable here. After their arrival at Engelthal Roderick appeared to care more for her society than he had done hitherto, and this revival of appetite could n't fail to come home to their friend. They sat together and strolled together, and she often read aloud to him. One day, on their arrival at luncheon, after he had been lying half the morning at her feet in the shadow of a rock, Rowland asked him what she had been reading.
"I don't know," Roderick said; "I don't heed the sense." Mary heard this and Rowland looked at her, but it only made her look hard at Roderick. "I listen to Mary," he continued, "for the sake of her voice. It 's soothing and stupefying—it 's really demoralising." At this the girl coloured and turned away.
Rowland, as we know, had speculated much, in the interest of his ultimate chance, had asked himself if her constancy had been proof; and that demand, on her lips, which had brought about his own departure for Switzerland had seemed almost equivalent to a confession that she needed his help to keep her faith. He had, in his high modesty, not risked the supposition that Mary could contrast him with Roderick to the advantage of his personal charm; but his consciousness of duty done had a hand to hold out for any such stray grain of enthusiasm as might have crumbled away from her estimate of his companion. If some
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