I believe I melted down to the point of telling her that I would find some good, quiet, affectionate husband for her; but she declared, almost with fury, that she was sick unto death of husbands, and begged Iwould never again mention the word.And, in fact, it was a rash offer;for I am sure that there is not a man of the kind that might really make a woman happy but would be afraid to marry mademoiselle.
Looked at in that way she is certainly very much to be pitied, and indeed, altogether, though I don't think she either means all she says or, by a great deal, says all that she means.
I feel very sorry for her."
Rowland met the two ladies, about this time, at several entertainments, and looked at Christina with a kind of distant attendrissement.
He imagined more than once that there had been a passionate scene between them about coming out, and wondered what arguments Mrs.Light had found effective.But Christina's face told no tales, and she moved about, beautiful and silent, looking absently over people's heads, barely heeding the men who pressed about her, and suggesting somehow that the soul of a world-wearied mortal had found its way into the blooming body of a goddess.
"Where in the world has Miss Light been before she is twenty,"observers asked, "to have left all her illusions behind?"And the general verdict was, that though she was incomparably beautiful, she was intolerably proud.Young ladies to whom the former distinction was not conceded were free to reflect that she was "not at all liked."It would have been difficult to guess, however, how they reconciled this conviction with a variety of conflicting evidence, and, in especial, with the spectacle of Roderick's inveterate devotion.
All Rome might behold that he, at least, "liked" Christina Light.
Wherever she appeared he was either awaiting her or immediately followed her.He was perpetually at her side, trying, apparently, to preserve the thread of a disconnected talk, the fate of which was, to judge by her face, profoundly immaterial to the young lady.
People in general smiled at the radiant good faith of the handsome young sculptor, and asked each other whether he really supposed that beauties of that quality were meant to wed with poor artists.
But although Christina's deportment, as I have said, was one of superb inexpressiveness, Rowland had derived from Roderick no suspicion that he suffered from snubbing, and he was therefore surprised at an incident which befell one evening at a large musical party.
Roderick, as usual, was in the field, and, on the ladies taking the chairs which had been arranged for them, he immediately placed himself beside Christina.As most of the gentlemen were standing, his position made him as conspicuous as Hamlet at Ophelia's feet, at the play.
Rowland was leaning, somewhat apart, against the chimney-piece.There was a long, solemn pause before the music began, and in the midst of it Christina rose, left her place, came the whole length of the immense room, with every one looking at her, and stopped before him.
She was neither pale nor flushed; she had a soft smile.
"Will you do me a favor?" she asked.
"A thousand!"
"Not now, but at your earliest convenience.Please remind Mr.Hudson that he is not in a New England village--that it is not the custom in Rome to address one's conversation exclusively, night after night, to the same poor girl, and that"....
The music broke out with a great blare and covered her voice.
She made a gesture of impatience, and Rowland offered her his arm and led her back to her seat.
The next day he repeated her words to Roderick, who burst into joyous laughter."She 's a delightfully strange girl!" he cried.
"She must do everything that comes into her head!""Had she never asked you before not to talk to her so much?""On the contrary, she has often said to me, 'Mind you now, I forbid you to leave me.Here comes that tiresome So-and-so.' She cares as little about the custom as I do.What could be a better proof than her walking up to you, with five hundred people looking at her?
Is that the custom for young girls in Rome?""Why, then, should she take such a step?""Because, as she sat there, it came into her head.That 's reason enough for her.I have imagined she wishes me well, as they say here--though she has never distinguished me in such a way as that!"Madame Grandoni had foretold the truth; Mrs.Light, a couple of weeks later, convoked all Roman society to a brilliant ball.
Rowland went late, and found the staircase so encumbered with flower-pots and servants that he was a long time making his way into the presence of the hostess.At last he approached her, as she stood making courtesies at the door, with her daughter by her side.
Some of Mrs.Light's courtesies were very low, for she had the happiness of receiving a number of the social potentates of the Roman world.
She was rosy with triumph, to say nothing of a less metaphysical cause, and was evidently vastly contented with herself, with her company, and with the general promise of destiny.Her daughter was less overtly jubilant, and distributed her greetings with impartial frigidity.
She had never been so beautiful.Dressed simply in vaporous white, relieved with half a dozen white roses, the perfection of her features and of her person and the mysterious depth of her expression seemed to glow with the white light of a splendid pearl.
She recognized no one individually, and made her courtesy slowly, gravely, with her eyes on the ground.Rowland fancied that, as he stood before her, her obeisance was slightly exaggerated, as with an intention of irony; but he smiled philosophically to himself, and reflected, as he passed into the room, that, if she disliked him, he had nothing to reproach himself with.He walked about, had a few words with Miss Blanchard, who, with a fillet of cameos in her hair, was leaning on the arm of Mr.Leavenworth, and at last came upon the Cavaliere Giacosa, modestly stationed in a corner.
