RODERICK HUDSON
Mary Garland, on hearing this statement, gave the speaker a single glance and then rose, laid down her work and walked rapidly out of the room. Mrs. Hudson tossed her head and timidly bristled. "This from you, Mr. Mallet?" she said, with an injured air which Rowland found harrowing.
But Roderick, most characteristically, did not in the least resent his friend's assertion; he sent him, on the contrary, one of the large, clear, beautiful looks, so often at his command, which made his approval, or his patience, so unexpectedly shine, and which set his companion wondering again, as all too frequently before, at the extraordinary disparities of his nature. "My dear mother, if you had had eyes that were n't blinded by this sad maternal vanity you would have seen all this for yourself; you would have seen that I 'm anything but prosperous."
"Is it anything about money?" cried Mrs. Hudson. "Oh, do write at once to Mr. Striker!"
"Money?" said Roderick. "I've not a cent of money. Where and how should I have got it?"
"Oh, Mr. Mallet, how could you let him?" Mrs. Hudson asked terribly.
"Everything I have is at his service," said Rowland, sick now of the scene.
"Of course Mr. Mallet will help you, my son!" the poor lady hastened to proclaim.
"Ah, leave Mr. Mallet alone!" said Roderick. "I 've squeezed him dry; it 's not my fault if he has anything left!"
"Roderick, what have you done with all your money?" his mother demanded.
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