scruple, as you know, of saying that her mother is a fool.
What she thinks, heaven knows. I suspect that, practically, she does not
commit herself. She is excessively proud, and thinks herself good enough
to occupy the highest station in the world; but she knows that her
mother talks nonsense, and that even a beautiful girl may look awkward
in making unsuccessful advances. So she remains superbly indifferent,
and lets her mother take the risks. If the prince is secured, so much
the better; if he is not, she need never confess to herself that even a
prince has slighted her."

"Your report is as solid," Rowland said to Madame Grandoni, thanking
her, "as if it had been prepared for the Academy of Sciences;" and he
congratulated himself on having listened to it when, a couple of days
later, Mrs. Light and her daughter, attended by the Cavaliere and the
poodle, came to his rooms to look at Roderick's statues. It was more
comfortable to know just with whom he was dealing.

Mrs. Light was prodigiously gracious, and showered down compliments not
only on the statues, but on all his possessions. "Upon my word," she
said, "you men know how to make yourselves comfortable. If one of us
poor women had half as many easy-chairs and knick-knacks, we should be
famously abused. It 's really selfish to be living all alone in such a
place as this. Cavaliere, how should you like this suite of rooms and a
fortune to fill them with pictures and statues? Christina, love, look at
that mosaic table. Mr. Mallet, I could almost beg it from you. Yes,
that Eve is certainly very fine. We need n't be ashamed of such a
great-grandmother as that. 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 i