RODERICK HUDSON
pleased him then; now he asked Augusta Blanchard if she would n't have tea.
When the two ladies withdrew he went with them to their conveyance. Coming back to the drawing-room he paused outside the open door; he was struck by the group formed by the three men. They were engaged in discussion of the so admirable Eve, and the author of the figure had lifted up the lamp and was showing different parts of it to his companions. He was talking with the confidence that never failed and yet never betrayed him—the lamp light covered his head and face. Rowland stood looking on, for the group appealed to him by its romantic symbolism. Roderick, bearing the lamp and glowing in its radiant circle, seemed the beautiful image of a genius which combined sincerity with power. Gloriani, with his head on one side, pulling his long moustache like a genial Mephistopheles and looking keenly from half-closed eyes at the lighted marble, represented art with a mixed motive, skill unleavened by faith, the mere base maximum of cleverness. Poor little Singleton, on the other side, with his hands behind him, his head thrown back and his eyes following devoutly the course of Roderick's charming extravagance, might pass for an embodiment of aspiring candour afflicted with feebleness of wing. In all this Roderick's was certainly the beau rôle.
Gloriani turned to Rowland as he came up; he pointed back with his thumb to the statue, his smile half sardonic and half sympathetic. "A pretty thing—a devilish pretty thing. It 's as fresh as
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