RODERICK HUDSON
But even then Miss Garland vouchsafed no smile; her face became graver than ever.
"Well, well," said Mrs. Hudson, "we must hope that it 's all for the best."
Mr. Striker eyed his old friend for a moment with a look of some displeasure; he saw that this was but a cunning female device for pretending still to hang back, and that, through some untraceable logic of treachery, she was now taking more comfort in the opinions of this sophistical stranger than in his own tough dogmas. He rose to his feet without pulling down his waistcoat, but with a wrinkled grin at the perfidy, let alone the inconsistency, of women. "Well, sir, Mr. Roderick's powers are nothing to me," he said, "no, nor the use he makes of them. Good or bad, he 's no son of mine. But in a friendly way I 'm glad to hear so fine an account of him. I 'm glad, madam, you 're so satisfied with the prospect. Affection, sir, you see, must have its guarantees!" He paused a moment, stroking his beard, with his head inclined and one eye half closed, looking at Rowland. The look was grotesque, but it was significant, and it puzzled Rowland more than it amused him. "I suppose you're a very brilliant young man," he went on, "very enlightened, very cultivated, quite up to the mark in the fine arts and all that sort of thing. I 'm a plain practical old boy, content to follow an honourable profession in a free country. I did n't go to any part of Europe to learn my business; no one took me by the hand; I had to grease my wheels myself, and such as I am, I 'm a self-made man, every inch
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