RODERICK HUDSON
for practical advice; she took leave to remind him that she was a stranger in the land. Where were they to go, please? What were they to do? His eyes, for a moment, took in Roderick—Roderick who had his back turned and, with his head on one side like a tourist in a church, was lost in the consideration of his own proved power. The proof, meeting him there in its several forms, had made him catch his breath.
"Roderick says he does n't know, he does n't care," Mrs. Hudson meanwhile observed. "He leaves it entirely to you."
Many another man, in Rowland's place, would have greeted this information with an irate and sarcastic laugh, telling his visitors that he thanked them infinitely for their confidence, but that really, as things stood now, they must settle these little matters between themselves; many another man might have so comported himself even had he been, deep within, equally occupied with the image of Mary Garland, and not less amply conscious that her destiny was also part of the question. But Rowland was now fairly used to his daily dose of bitterness, and after a hard look, as always, at the cup, he again swallowed the draught and entered, responsively and formally, into Mrs. Hudson's dilemma. His wits, however, were but indifferently at his command; they were dulled by his sense of the singular change that had taken place in the attitude of this bewildered woman. Her visit was evidently intended as a grave reminder of forgotten vows. She was doubtless too sincerely humble a person
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