RODERICK HUDSON
the first time. He gave Rowland a clear, penetrating glance, and then with a wonderfully frank, appealing smile, "You absolutely meant," he asked, "what you said a while ago about that thing of mine? It 's good—essentially good?"
"I really meant it," said Rowland, laying a kindly hand on his shoulder. "It 's very good indeed. It 's as you say, essentially good. That 's just the beauty and the interest of it."
Hudson's eyes glowed and expanded; he looked for some time in silence at this strange utterer of sweet sounds. "I have a notion you really know," he said at last. "But if you don't, you see, it does n't much matter."
"My cousin asked me to-day," said Cecilia, "if I supposed you knew yourself how good it is."
Hudson stared, flushing a little. "Perhaps not, then!"
"That may very well be," said Rowland. "I read in a book the other day that great talent in action—in fact the book said genius—is a kind of safe somnambulism. The artist performs great feats in a lucky dream. We must n't wake him up lest he should lose his balance."
"Oh, when he's back in bed again!" Hudson answered with a laugh. "Yes, call it a lucky dream. It was a very happy one."
"Tell me this," said Rowland. "Did you mean anything very particular by your young Waterdrinker? Does he represent an idea? Is he a pointed symbol?"
Hudson raised his eyebrows and gently stroked
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