RODERICK HUDSON
"Pray, listen to me!" Rowland began.
"Nothing, nothing, nothing has come of it. I 've passed the dreariest month of my life."
"You're a very terrible young woman," Rowland remarked.
"What do you mean by that?"
"A good many things. We'll talk them over. But first forgive me if I really wounded you."
She looked at him a moment, hesitating, and then thrust her hands into her muff. "That means nothing. Forgiveness is between equals, and you don't regard me as your equal."
"How do you make it out?"
Christina rose and moved for a moment about the room. Then turning suddenly, "You don't believe in me!" she cried; "not a grain! I don't know what I would n't give to force you to believe in me!"
Rowland sprang up, protesting, but before he had time to go far one of the scanty portières was raised and Madame Grandoni came in, pulling her wig straight. "You shall believe in me yet, you know," Christina murmured as she passed toward her hostess.
Madame Grandoni turned tenderly to her young friend. "I must give you a very solemn kiss, my dear; you 're the heroine of the hour. You 've really accepted him, eh?"
"So they say!"
"But you ought to know best."
"I don't know — I don't care!" She stood with her hand in Madame Grandoni's, but looking askance at Rowland.
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