"Strange enough," thought Rowland, "he may seem to her, if he will!"Roderick directed his glance to his friend with a certain peremptory air, which--roughly interpreted--was equivalent to a request to share the intellectual expense of entertaining the ladies."Good heavens!"Rowland cried within himself; "is he already tired of them?""To-morrow, of course, we must begin to put you through the mill,"Roderick said to his mother."And be it hereby known to Mallet that we count upon him to turn the wheel.""I will do as you please, my son," said Mrs.Hudson.
"So long as I have you with me I don't care where I go.
We must not take up too much of Mr.Mallet's time.""His time is inexhaustible; he has nothing under the sun to do.
Have you, Rowland? If you had seen the big hole I have been making in it!
Where will you go first? You have your choice--from the Scala Santa to the Cloaca Maxima.""Let us take things in order," said Rowland."We will go first to Saint Peter's.Miss Garland, I hope you are impatient to see Saint Peter's.""I would like to go first to Roderick's studio," said Miss Garland.
"It 's a very nasty place," said Roderick."At your pleasure!""Yes, we must see your beautiful things before we can look contentedly at anything else," said Mrs.Hudson.
"I have no beautiful things," said Roderick."You may see what there is!
What makes you look so odd?"
This inquiry was abruptly addressed to his mother, who, in response, glanced appealingly at Mary and raised a startled hand to her smooth hair.
"No, it 's your face," said Roderick."What has happened to it these two years? It has changed its expression.""Your mother has prayed a great deal," said Miss Garland, simply.
"I did n't suppose, of course, it was from doing anything bad!
It makes you a very good face--very interesting, very solemn.
It has very fine lines in it; something might be done with it."And Rowland held one of the candles near the poor lady's head.
She was covered with confusion."My son, my son," she said with dignity, "I don't understand you."In a flash all his old alacrity had come to him.
"I suppose a man may admire his own mother!" he cried.
"If you please, madame, you 'll sit to me for that head.
I see it, I see it! I will make something that a queen can't get done for her."Rowland respectfully urged her to assent; he saw Roderick was in the vein and would probably do something eminently original.She gave her promise, at last, after many soft, inarticulate protests and a frightened petition that she might be allowed to keep her knitting.
Rowland returned the next day, with plenty of zeal for the part Roderick had assigned to him.It had been arranged that they should go to Saint Peter's.Roderick was in high good-humor, and, in the carriage, was watching his mother with a fine mixture of filial and professional tenderness.Mrs.Hudson looked up mistrustfully at the tall, shabby houses, and grasped the side of the barouche in her hand, as if she were in a sail-boat, in dangerous waters.
Rowland sat opposite to Miss Garland.She was totally oblivious of her companions; from the moment the carriage left the hotel, she sat gazing, wide-eyed and absorbed, at the objects about them.
If Rowland had felt disposed he might have made a joke of her intense seriousness.From time to time he told her the name of a place or a building, and she nodded, without looking at him.
When they emerged into the great square between Bernini's colonnades, she laid her hand on Mrs.Hudson's arm and sank back in the carriage, staring up at the vast yellow fa;alcade of the church.
Inside the church, Roderick gave his arm to his mother, and Rowland constituted himself the especial guide of Miss Garland.
He walked with her slowly everywhere, and made the entire circuit, telling her all he knew of the history of the building.
This was a great deal, but she listened attentively, keeping her eyes fixed on the dome.To Rowland himself it had never seemed so radiantly sublime as at these moments; he felt almost as if he had contrived it himself and had a right to be proud of it.
He left Miss Garland a while on the steps of the choir, where she had seated herself to rest, and went to join their companions.
Mrs.Hudson was watching a great circle of tattered contadini, who were kneeling before the image of Saint Peter.The fashion of their tatters fascinated her; she stood gazing at them in a sort of terrified pity, and could not be induced to look at anything else.
Rowland went back to Miss Garland and sat down beside her.
"Well, what do you think of Europe?" he asked, smiling.
"I think it 's horrible!" she said abruptly.
"Horrible?"
"I feel so strangely--I could almost cry.""How is it that you feel?"
"So sorry for the poor past, that seems to have died here, in my heart, in an hour!""But, surely, you 're pleased--you 're interested.""I am overwhelmed.Here in a single hour, everything is changed.
It is as if a wall in my mind had been knocked down at a stroke.
Before me lies an immense new world, and it makes the old one, the poor little narrow, familiar one I have always known, seem pitiful.""But you did n't come to Rome to keep your eyes fastened on that narrow little world.Forget it, turn your back on it, and enjoy all this.""I want to enjoy it; but as I sat here just now, looking up at that golden mist in the dome, I seemed to see in it the vague shapes of certain people and things at home.
To enjoy, as you say, as these things demand of one to enjoy them, is to break with one's past.And breaking is a pain!""Don't mind the pain, and it will cease to trouble you.
Enjoy, enjoy; it is your duty.Yours especially!""Why mine especially?"
"Because I am very sure that you have a mind capable of doing the most liberal justice to everything interesting and beautiful.
You are extremely intelligent."
"You don't know," said Miss Garland, simply.
"In that matter one feels.I really think that I know better than you.
