RODERICK HUDSON
days Roderick asked Rowland to come and give his opinion as to what was still wanting; for the sittings had continued to take place in Mrs. Light's apartment, the studio being pronounced too damp for the fair model. When Rowland presented himself Christina, still in her white dress, with her shoulders bare, was standing before a mirror to readjust her hair, the arrangement of which on this occasion had apparently not met the young sculptor's approval. He stood beside her directing the operation with an emphatic ring that struck Rowland as denoting a considerable advance in intimacy. As this visitor entered Christina was losing patience. "Do it yourself then!" she cried, and with a rapid movement unloosed the great coil of her tresses and let them fall over her shoulders.
They were magnificent, and with her perfect face dividing their rippling flow she looked like some immaculate saint of legend being led to martyrdom. Rowland's eyes presumably betrayed his admiration, but her own showed no vulgar perception of anything she was so little concerned with. If Christina was a coquette, as the remarkable timeliness of this incident might have suggested, her coquetry had the highest finish.
"Hudson has the luck to be a sculptor, in his way," Rowland remarked with gaiety; "but it comes over me that if I were only a painter—!"
"Thank goodness you're not!" said Christina. "I 'm having quite enough of this minute inspection of my charms."
"My dear young man, hands off!" cried Mrs.
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