RODERICK HUDSON
"Ah, but my poor dear fellow!" his friend inconclusively demurred.
"Oh, Mr. Mallet, aren't you satisfied?" asked Mrs. Hudson in the tone in which Niobe may have addressed the avenging archers after she had seen her eldest-born fall. "It 's out of all nature keeping him here. When our poor hearts are broken, surely our own dear native land is the place for us. Do leave us to ourselves, sir!"
This just failed of being a dismissal in form, and Rowland made a note of it. Roderick was silent for some moments; then suddenly he covered his face with his two hands. "Take me, at least, out of this terrible Italy," he cried, "where everything mocks and reproaches and torments and eludes me! Take me out of this land of impossible beauty and put me in the midst of ugliness. Set me down where nature is coarse and flat and men and manners are vulgar. There must be something ugly enough in Germany. Pack me off, for goodness' sake, there!"
Rowland answered that if he wished to leave Italy the thing might be arranged; he would think it over and submit a proposal on the morrow. He suggested to Mrs. Hudson in consequence that she should spend the autumn in Switzerland, where she would find a fine tonic climate, plenty of fresh milk and several very inexpensive pensions. Switzerland of course was not reputed ugly, but one could n't have everything!
Mrs. Hudson neither thanked him nor assented, but she wept and packed her trunks. Rowland had a theory, after the scene which led to these preparations, that Mary was weary of waiting for Roderick to come
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