RODERICK HUDSON
"Come back; sit down there and listen to me. Of anything you say in your present state of mind you 'll live, I 'm certain, very bitterly to repent. You don't know what you really think, you don't know what you really feel. You don't know your own mind, you don't do justice to Miss Garland. All this is impossible here, where your conditions for it are of the worst. You 're blind, you 're deaf, you 're under a spell. To break it you must leave Rome."
"Leave Rome? Rome was never so dear to me."
"That's not of the smallest consequence. Leave it to-morrow."
"And where shall I go?"
"Go to some place where you may be alone with your mother and your cousin."
"Alone? You 'll not come?"
"Oh yes—if you ask it of me."
Roderick, inclining his head a little, looked at his friend askance. "I don't understand you, you know," he said. "I think I really wish you liked Mary either a little less or a little more."
Rowland felt himself flush, but he tried to keep his words from reflecting it. "You put it to me that I 'm to 'help' you, but on these present terms I can do nothing. If on the other hand you 'll leave your question exactly as it is for a couple of months, and meanwhile leave Rome, leave Italy, I 'll do what I can to ease you off in the event of your then still wishing to be liberated."
"I must do without your help then, really," Roderick replied. "Your terms are impossible. I 'll leave
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