d of rancor, for he had approached Mr. Leavenworth with unstudied
familiarity, and, lounging against the wall, with hands in pockets, was
discoursing to him with candid serenity. Now that he had done him an
impertinence, he evidently found him less intolerable. Mr. Leavenworth
stood stirring his tea and silently opening and shutting his mouth,
without looking at the young sculptor, like a large, drowsy dog snapping
at flies. Rowland had found it disagreeable to be told Miss Blanchard
would have married him for the asking, and he would have felt some
embarrassment in going to speak to her if his modesty had not found
incredulity so easy. The facile side of a union with Miss Blanchard had
never been present to his mind; it had struck him as a thing, in all
ways, to be compassed with a great effort. He had half an hour's talk
with her; a farewell talk, as it seemed to him--a farewell not to a real
illusion, but to the idea that for him, in that matter, there could ever
be an acceptable pis-aller. He congratulated Miss Blanchard upon her
engagement, and she received his compliment with a touch of primness.
But she was always a trifle prim, even when she was quoting Mrs.
Browning and George Sand, and this harmless defect did not prevent her
responding on this occasion that Mr. Leavenworth had a "glorious heart."
Rowland wished to manifest an extreme regard, but toward the end of the
talk his zeal relaxed, and he fell a-thinking that a certain natural
ease in a woman was the most delightful thing in the world. There was
Christina Light, who had too much, and here was Miss Blanchard, who had
too little, and there was Mary Garland (in whom the quality was wholly
uncultivated), who had just the right amount.

He went to Madame Grandoni in an adjoining room, where she was pouring
out tea.

"I will make you an excellent cup," she said, "because I have forgiven
you."

He looked at her, answering nothing; but he swallowed his tea with great
gusto, and a slight deepening of his color; by all of which one would
have known that he was gratified. In a moment he intimated that, in so
far as he had sinned, he had forgiven himself.

"She is a lovely girl," said Madame Grandoni. "There is a great deal
there. I have taken a great fancy to her, and she must let me make a
friend of her."

"She is very plain," said Rowland, slowly, "very simple, very ignorant."

"Which, being interpreted, means, 'She is very handsome, very subtle,
and ha