RODERICK HUDSON
cut it short. He did n't go away; he simply took a long walk, made an absence of hours, and on his return found Mary sitting out in the moonlight with their friend.
Communing with himself during the restless ramble in question, he had determined that he would at last cease to observe, to heed or to care for what these two young persons might do or might not do together. Nevertheless some three days afterwards, the opportunity presenting itself, he deliberately broached the subject with Roderick. He felt it inconsistent and faint-hearted; it was an allowance to fingers that itched to handle forbidden fruit. But he said to himself that it was really more logical to return to the question than to drop it, for they had formerly discussed these mysteries sharply enough. Was n't it perfectly reasonable that he should wish to know the sequel to the situation Roderick had then delineated? Roderick had made him promises, and it was to be expected that he should wish to ascertain how the promises had been kept. So he took occasion to break ground on the morrow of the day just mentioned. "I imagine you're not sorry at present to have allowed yourself to be dissuaded from putting an end to your affair with your cousin." He liked somehow calling their engagement an affair.
Roderick eyed him with the vague and absent look lately habitual to his face. "Dissuaded?"
"Don't you remember that in Rome you wished to break off, and that I urged you to hold fast, on the contrary — thin as your link appeared to have become? I wanted you to see what would come, for
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