RODERICK HUDSON
finish its nap. "But I want to see the gentleman with the driving demon," said Rowland.
"Do demons know how to drive?" Bessie demanded. "It 's only old Mr. Hudson."
"Very well, I want to see old Mr. Hudson."
"Oh, never mind him!" said Bessie, with the brevity of contempt.
"You speak as if you didn't like him."
"I don't!" Bessie affirmed, putting Rowland to bed again. The hammock was swung at the end of the verandah, in the thickest shade of the climbing plants, and this fragment of dialogue had passed unnoticed. Rowland submitted a while longer to be cradled and contented himself with listening to Mr. Hudson's voice. It was a soft and not altogether masculine organ, and pitched on this occasion in a somewhat plaintive and pettish key. The young man's mood seemed fretful; he complained of the gnats, of the dust, of a shoe that hurt him, of having gone on an errand a mile to the other side of the town and found that the person he was in search of had left Northampton an hour before.
"Won't you have a cup of tea?" Cecilia asked.
"Perhaps that will restore your equanimity."
"Ay, by keeping me awake all night!" said Mr. Hudson. "At the best, to go down to the office is like getting into a bath with the water frozen. With my nerves set on edge by a sleepless night I should sit and shiver at home. That 's always charming for my mother."
"Your mother's well, I hope?"
21
