XXVI
Rowland passed the remainder of the day as best he could. He could scarce have said whether he were exalted or depressed; he felt, uneasily, placed in the wrong in spite of his excellent cause. Roderick made no appearance at luncheon; but of this, with his passion for mooning away the hours on far-off mountain-sides, he had almost made a habit. Mrs. Hudson's face, at the noonday repast, showed how his sharp demand for money had unsealed the fountains of her distress. Little Singleton consumed an enor mous and well-earned meal. Mary Garland, Rowland observed, had not contributed her scanty assistance to her kinsman's pursuit of the Princess Casamassima without an effort that had ploughed deep. She had clearly, in fact, been ravaged by it, and she looked so ill and remained so silent that, the repast over, Rowland expressed to her the fear that she was seriously unwell. They had come out upon the grass in front of the inn.
"I've a bad headache — that's all." And then suddenly, looking about at the menacing sky and motionless air, "It's this horrible day!" she said.
He that afternoon tried to write a letter to his cousin Cecilia, but his head and his heart were alike heavy, and he traced upon the paper but a single line. "I believe there 's such a thing as being too reasonable. Yet when once the habit 's formed what
514
