RODERICK HUDSON
called his hant. She never saw him without whispering to him that Augusta Blanchard was just the somebody.
It seemed to him indeed a foreshadowing of matrimony to see Augusta Blanchard stand gracefully on his hearth-rug and bloom behind the central bouquet at his circular dinner-table. The dinner was very prosperous, and Roderick amply filled his position as hero of the feast. He had always an air of dauntless intention, but on this occasion he manifested a good deal of harmless pleasure in his glory. He drank freely and talked bravely; he leaned back in his chair with his hands in his pockets and flung open the gates of his eloquence. Singleton sat gazing and listening open-mouthed, as if Phœbus Apollo had been talking. Gloriani's fine smile showed the light of general scepticism and an evident disposition to draw Roderick out. Rowland had his apprehensions, for he knew that theory was not his young friend's strong point and that it was never fair to take his measure from his mere magnificence of speech.
"As you 've begun with Adam and Eve," said Gloriani, "I suppose you 're going straight through the Bible." He was one of the persons who thought Roderick delightfully fresh.
"I may make a David," said Roderick, "but I shall not try any more of the Old Testament people. I don't like the Jews; I like the big nose, as any sculptor must, but only the Christian, or still better the pagan, form. David, the boy David, is rather an exception; you can think of him and treat him
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