RODERICK HUDSON
procession of ecclesiastics on their march to the choir. He began to model a new image — a female figure of which he had said nothing to Rowland. It represented a woman leaning lazily back in her chair, with her head inclined in apparent attention, a vague smile on her lips and a pair of remarkably beautiful arms folded in her lap. With something less of its emphasised grace it would have recalled the noble statue of Agrippina in the Capitol. Rowland looked at it and was not sure he liked it. It differed singularly from anything his friend had yet done. "Who is it? what does it mean?" he asked.
"Anything you please!" said Roderick with a certain petulance. "A 'Lady conversing affably with a Gentleman.'"
Rowland then remembered that one of the Baden-Baden conversers had had wonderful "lines," and here perhaps they were. But he asked no more questions. This, after all, was a way of profiting by experience. A few days later he took his first ride of the season on the Campagna, and as he on his homeward canter was passing across the long shadow of a ruined tower he perceived a small figure at a short distance bent over a sketch-book. As he drew near he recognised Sam Singleton. The honest little painter's face was scorched to flame-colour by the light of southern suns, and borrowed an even deeper crimson from his gleeful greeting of his most appreciative patron. He was making a careful and charming sketch. On Rowland's asking him how he had spent his summer he gave an account of his wanderings which made our poor
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