RODERICK HUDSON
Roderick was young, impulsive, unpractised in stoicism; it was a hundred to one that he was to pay the usual vulgar tribute to folly. But his friend had regarded it as securely gained to his own belief in virtue that he was not as other foolish youths are, and that he would have been capable of looking Folly in the face, for all her bells, and passing on his way. Rowland for a while felt a sore sense of wrath. What right had a man who was engaged to that delightful girl in Northampton to behave as if his consciousness were a common blank, to be filled in with coarse sensations? Yes, distinctly, he had lost an illusion, an illusion that he had loved. He had accompanied his missive with an urgent recommendation that Baden-Baden should immediately be quitted, and with an offer to meet the young traveller at any point the latter might name. The answer came promptly; it ran as follows: "Send me another fifty pounds! I 'm a bigger donkey than ever. I will leave as soon as the money comes, and meet you at Geneva. There I will tell you everything."
There is an ancient terrace at Geneva, planted with trees and studded with benches, overlooked by stately houses and overlooking the distant Alps. A great many generations have made it a lounging place, a great many friends and lovers strolled there, a great many confidential talks and momentous interviews gone forward. Here one morning, sitting on one of the battered green benches, Roderick, as he had promised, told his friend everything. He had arrived the previous evening; he looked
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