RODERICK HUDSON
expressed it less crudely. But Rowland saw in Mr. Striker's many-wrinkled light blue eye, shrewd at once and good-natured, that he had no intention of defiance, and that he was simply pompous and conceited and sarcastically compassionate of any scheme of things in which Roderick was not a negligeable quantity.
"Do, my dear madam?" demanded Rowland. "I don't propose to do anything. He must do for himself. I simply offer him the chance. He 's to study, to strive, to work—very hard, I hope."
"Ah, not too hard, please," murmured Mrs. Hudson pleadingly, wheeling about from recent alarms at the dolce far niente. "He 's not very strong, and I 'm afraid the climate of Europe is very relaxing."
"Ah, study?" repeated Mr. Striker. "To what line of study is he to direct his attention?" Then suddenly, with an impulse of disinterested curiosity on his own account, "How do you study sculpture anyhow?"
"By looking at models and imitating them."
"At models, eh? To what kind of models do you refer?"
"To the antique, in the first place."
"Ah, the antique"—and Mr. Striker gave it the jocose intonation. "Do you hear, madam? Roderick is going off to Europe to learn to imitate the antique."
"I suppose it's all right," said Mrs. Hudson while she twisted herself in a sort of delicate anguish.
"An antique, as I understand it," the lawyer
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