RODERICK HUDSON
stances; energy was there, audacity, the restless questioning soul. "I 'm afraid I 'm sadly prosaic," he said, "for in these many months now that I 've been in Rome I 've never ceased for a moment to look at the Faith simply from the outside. I don't see an opening as big as your finger-nail where I could creep into it!"
"What do you believe?" asked Christina, looking at him. "Do you believe anything at all?"
"I 'm very old-fashioned. I believe in the grand old English Bible."
"'English'—?"
"American then," Rowland smiled.
She let her beautiful eyes wander a while, and then gave a small sigh. "You're much to be envied!"
"Oh 'envied'—!" And Rowland fairly sounded bitter.
"Yes, you have rest."
"You 're too young to envy anybody anything."
"I'm not young; I've never been young! My mother took care of that. I was a little wrinkled old woman at ten."
"I 'm afraid," said Rowland in a moment, "that you 're fond of overloading the picture."
She looked at him a while in silence. "Do you wish to win my eternal gratitude? Prove to me that I 'm better than I suppose."
"I should have first to know what you really suppose."
She shook her head. "It would n't do! You would be horrified to learn even the things I imagine about
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