RODERICK HUDSON
of isolation and self-support. He used sometimes to go into the little high-niched ordinary room which served her as a studio, to find her working at a panel six inches square, by an open casement, profiled against the deep blue Roman sky. She welcomed him with a meek-eyed dignity that made her seem a painted saint on a church window receiving the daylight in all her being. The breath of vulgar report passed her by with folded wings. And yet Rowland wondered why he could n't like her better. If he failed, the reason was not far to seek. There was another woman whom he liked better, an image in his heart which gave itself small airs of exclusiveness.
On that evening to which allusion has been made, when Rowland was left alone between the starlight and the waves with the sudden knowledge that Mary Garland was to become another man's wife, he had taken after a while the simple resolution to forget her. And every day since, like a famous philosopher who wished to abbreviate his mourning for a faithful servant, he had said to himself in substance: "Remember to forget Mary Garland." Sometimes it seemed as if he were succeeding; then suddenly, when he was least expecting it, he would find her name inaudibly on his lips and seem to see her eyes meeting his eyes. All this made him uncomfortable and seemed to plant he scarce knew what ugly danger on the brow of the future. False positions were not to his taste; he shrank from imperious passions, and the idea of finding himself jealous of an unsuspecting friend could only disgust him.
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