RODERICK HUDSON
"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's inexhaustible; he has nothing under the sun to do. Can you dream, Rowland, of anything more delirious than our company? If you had seen the big hole I 've been making in his life! 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 church. Miss Garland, I hope you 're impatient to see Saint Peter's church."
"I should like to go first to Roderick's studio," Miss Garland declared.
"It 's a very horrid, nasty, depressing place, my studio," said Roderick. "But do whatever in the wide world you like."
"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 a dozen ghosts of dead dreams. What makes you look so—? But how is it you do look?"
This enquiry 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 dear old face. What has come over
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