RODERICK HUDSON
again. Poor Gloriani, he was sure, had never in his life spoken with less of the mocking spirit; but a profession of faith came wrongly, somehow, at such a moment, for Roderick's nerves. He turned away with his imprecation scarce suppressed. Gloriani was ever trying to get near life, but life now baffled him. "What's the matter with him?" he asked with simplicity.
Rowland gave a sad smile and touched his forehead. "Genius—too much of it!"
"Ah, one must n't have it so badly as that!" But Gloriani sent another parting, lingering look at the bust. "It 's as cool as a draught of the acqua Marcia—and as pretty as the plash of it. He is to be counted on. But I 'm glad, since his spirit 's so high, that mine 's a poorer thing. It makes," he explained with a laugh as he looked for Roderick to wave him goodbye and saw his back still turned, "it makes a more sociable studio!"
Rowland had purchased, as he supposed, temporary peace for Mary Garland; but his own spirit, in these days, was given over to the elements. The ideal life had been his general purpose, but the ideal life could only go on very real legs and feet, and the body and the extremities somehow failed always to move in concert. The days passed, but brought with them no official invitation to Christina Light's wedding. He occasionally met her, and he occasionally met Prince Casamassima; but the two were always separate: they were apparently taking their happiness in the inexpressive and isolated manner proper to people of social eminence. Rowland con-
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