RODERICK HUDSON
for her, is he one of your sons in a thousand?" And he gave Rowland almost a hard look.
"Why, she adores the ground he treads on," said Rowland, smiling.
"I take that for an answer! But it 's none of my business. Only if I, in his place, being suspected of having—what shall I call it?—a cold and corrupt heart, had risked that look of love, oh, oh! I should be called a pretty lot of names. Charlatan, poseur, arrangeur! But he can do as he chooses! My dear young man, I know you don't like me," he went on as Roderick came back. "But it 's a pity to waste your time on that, because you 're strong enough never to think of me again. You 're strong all round and everywhere."
Roderick even at this scarce departed from his dryness. "I'm sorry to differ from you, but I'm hopelessly weak."
Well, his visitor still allowed for his arrogance. "I told you last year that you would n't keep it up. I was a great ass. You will keep it up."
"I beg your pardon—I won't!" retorted Roderick.
"Though I 'm a great ass all the same, eh? Well, call me what you will, so long as you turn out this sort of thing. I don't suppose it makes any particular difference to you, but I shall rejoice, for myself, to have made this sign of how largely I count on you."
Roderick stood looking at him with a strange rigour. It turned slowly to a flush, and two glittering angry tears filled his eyes. It was the first time Rowland had ever seen them there; he saw them but once
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