eloquence floated him past the short, sharp, startled cry with which Roderick greeted his 'conversational trifle.' The young man stood looking at him with parted lips and an excited eye.
'The position of woman,' Mr. Leavenworth placidly resumed, 'is certainly a very degraded one in these countries. I doubt whether a European princess can command the respect which in our country is exhibited toward the obscurest females. The civilization of a country should be measured by the deference shown to the weaker sex. Judged by that standard, where are they, over here?'
Though Mr. Leavenworth had not observed Roderick's emotion, it was not lost upon Rowland, who was making certain uncomfortable reflections upon it. He saw that it had instantly become one with the acute irritation produced by the poor gentleman's oppressive personality, and that an explosion of some sort was imminent. Mr. Leavenworth, with calm unconsciousness, proceeded to fire the mine.
'And now for our Culture!' he said in the same sonorous tones, demanding with a gesture the unveiling of the figure, which stood somewhat apart, muffled in a great sheet.
Roderick stood looking at him for a moment with concentrated rancor, and then strode to the statue and twitched off the cover. Mr. Leavenworth settled himself into his chair with an air of flattered proprietorship, and scanned the unfinished image. 'I can conscientiously express myself as gratified with the general conception,' he said. 'The figure has considerable majesty, and the countenance wears a fine, open expression. The forehead, however, strikes me as not sufficiently intellectual. In a statue of Culture, you know, that should be the great point. The eye should instinctively seek the forehead. Could n't you heighten it up a little?'
Roderick, for all answer, tossed the sheet back over the statue. 'Oblige me, sir,' he said, 'oblige me! Never mention that thing again.'
'Never mention it? Why my dear sir'—
'Never mention it. It 's an abomination!'
'An abomination! My Culture!'
'Yours indeed!' cried Roderick. 'It 's none of mine. I disown it.'
'Disown it, if you please,' said Mr. Leavenworth sternly, 'but finish it first!'
'I 'd rather smash it!' cried Roderick.
'This is folly, sir. You must keep your engagements.'
'I made no engagement. A sculptor is n't a tailor. Did you ever hear of inspiration? Mine is dead! And it 's no laughing matter. You yourself killed it.'
'I—I—killed your inspiration?' cried Mr. Leavenworth, with the accent of righteous wrath. 'You 're a very ungrateful boy! If ever I encouraged and cheered and sustained any one, I 'm sure I have done so to you.'
'I appreciate your good intentions, and I don't wish to be uncivil. But your encouragement is—superfluous. I can't work for you!'
'I call this ill-humor, young man!' said Mr. Leavenworth, as if he had found the damning word.
'Oh, I 'm in an infernal humor!' Roderick answered.
'Pray, sir, is it my infelicitous allusion to Miss Light's marriage?'
'It 's your infelicitous everything! I don't say that to offend you; I beg your pardon if it does. I say it by way of making our rupture complete, irretrievable!'
Rowland had stood by in silence, but he now interfered. 'Listen to me,' he said, laying his hand on Roderick's arm. 'You are standing on the edge of a gulf. If you suffer anything that has passed to interrupt your work on that figure, you take your plunge. It 's no matter that you don't like it; you will do the wisest thing you ever did if you make that effort of will necessary for finishing it. Destroy the statue then, if you like, but make the effort. I speak the truth!'
Roderick looked at him with eyes that still inexorableness made almost tender. 'You too!' he simply said.
Rowland felt that he might as well attempt to squeeze water from a polished crystal as hope to move him. He turned away and walked into the adjoining room with a sense of sickening helplessness. In a few moments he came back and found that Mr. Leavenworth had departed—presumably in a manner somewhat portentous. Roderick was sitting with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
Rowland made one more attempt. 'You decline to think of what I urge?'
'Absolutely.'
'There's one more point—that you shouldn't, for a month, go to Mrs. Light's.'
'I go there this evening.'
'That too is an utter folly.'
'There are such things as necessary follies.'
'You are not reflecting; you are speaking in passion.'
'Why then do you make me speak?'
Rowland meditated a moment. 'Is it also necessary that you should lose the best friend you have?'
Roderick looked up. 'That 's for you to settle!'
His best friend clapped on his hat and strode away; in a moment the door closed behind him. Rowland walked hard for nearly a couple of hours. He passed up the Corso, out of the Porta del Popolo and into the Villa Borghese, of which he made a complete circuit. The keenness of his irritation subsided, but it left him with an intolerable weight upon his heart. When dusk had fallen, he found himself near the lodging of his friend Madame Grandoni. He frequently paid her a visit during the hour which preceded dinner, and he now ascended her unillumined staircase and rang at her relaxed bell-rope with an especial desire for diversion. He was told that, for the moment, she was occupied, but that if he would come in and wait, she would presently be with him. He had not sat musing in the firelight for ten minutes when he heard the jingle of the door-bell and then a rustling and murmuring in the hall. The
