If she was really such a beautiful woman, it accounts for the good looks of some of us.Where is Mr.What 's-his-name, the young sculptor?
Why is n't he here to be complimented?"
Christina had remained but for a moment in the chair which Rowland had placed for her, had given but a cursory glance at the statues, and then, leaving her place, had begun to wander round the room--looking at herself in the mirror, touching the ornaments and curiosities, glancing at the books and prints.Rowland's sitting-room was encumbered with bric-a-brac, and she found plenty of occupation.
Rowland presently joined her, and pointed out some of the objects he most valued.
"It 's an odd jumble," she said frankly."Some things are very pretty--some are very ugly.But I like ugly things, when they have a certain look.Prettiness is terribly vulgar nowadays, and it is not every one that knows just the sort of ugliness that has chic.
But chic is getting dreadfully common too.There 's a hint of it even in Madame Baldi's bonnets.I like looking at people's things,"she added in a moment, turning to Rowland and resting her eyes on him.
"It helps you to find out their characters.""Am I to suppose," asked Rowland, smiling, "that you have arrived at any conclusions as to mine?""I am rather muddled; you have too many things; one seems to contradict another.You are very artistic and yet you are very prosaic; you have what is called a 'catholic' taste and yet you are full of obstinate little prejudices and habits of thought, which, if I knew you, I should find very tiresome.
I don't think I like you."
"You make a great mistake," laughed Rowland; "I assure you Iam very amiable."
"Yes, I am probably wrong, and if I knew you, I should find out Iwas wrong, and that would irritate me and make me dislike you more.
So you see we are necessary enemies."
"No, I don't dislike you."
"Worse and worse; for you certainly will not like me.""You are very discouraging."
"I am fond of facing the truth, though some day you will deny that.
Where is that queer friend of yours?"
"You mean Mr.Hudson.He is represented by these beautiful works."Miss Light looked for some moments at Roderick's statues.
"Yes," she said, "they are not so silly as most of the things we have seen.
They have no chic, and yet they are beautiful.""You describe them perfectly," said Rowland."They are beautiful, and yet they have no chic.That 's it!""If he will promise to put none into my bust, I have a mind to let him make it.A request made in those terms deserves to be granted.""In what terms?"
"Did n't you hear him? 'Mademoiselle, you almost satisfy my conception of the beautiful.I must model your bust.'
That almost should be rewarded.He is like me; he likes to face the truth.I think we should get on together."The Cavaliere approached Rowland, to express the pleasure he had derived from his beautiful "collection." His smile was exquisitely bland, his accent appealing, caressing, insinuating.
But he gave Rowland an odd sense of looking at a little waxen image, adjusted to perform certain gestures and emit certain sounds.
It had once contained a soul, but the soul had leaked out.
Nevertheless, Rowland reflected, there are more profitless things than mere sound and gesture, in a consummate Italian.
And the Cavaliere, too, had soul enough left to desire to speak a few words on his own account, and call Rowland's attention to the fact that he was not, after all, a hired cicerone, but an ancient Roman gentleman.Rowland felt sorry for him; he hardly knew why.
He assured him in a friendly fashion that he must come again;that his house was always at his service.The Cavaliere bowed down to the ground."You do me too much honor," he murmured.
"If you will allow me--it is not impossible!"Mrs.Light, meanwhile, had prepared to depart."If you are not afraid to come and see two quiet little women, we shall be most happy!" she said."We have no statues nor pictures--we have nothing but each other.Eh, darling?""I beg your pardon," said Christina.
"Oh, and the Cavaliere," added her mother.
"The poodle, please!" cried the young girl.
Rowland glanced at the Cavaliere; he was smiling more blandly than ever.
A few days later Rowland presented himself, as civility demanded, at Mrs.Light's door.He found her living in one of the stately houses of the Via dell' Angelo Custode, and, rather to his surprise, was told she was at home.He passed through half a dozen rooms and was ushered into an immense saloon, at one end of which sat the mistress of the establishment, with a piece of embroidery.
She received him very graciously, and then, pointing mysteriously to a large screen which was unfolded across the embrasure of one of the deep windows, "I am keeping guard!" she said.
Rowland looked interrogative; whereupon she beckoned him forward and motioned him to look behind the screen.He obeyed, and for some moments stood gazing.Roderick, with his back turned, stood before an extemporized pedestal, ardently shaping a formless mass of clay.
Before him sat Christina Light, in a white dress, with her shoulders bare, her magnificent hair twisted into a classic coil, and her head admirably poised.Meeting Rowland's gaze, she smiled a little, only with her deep gray eyes, without moving.
She looked divinely beautiful.