“I am very happy,” said Mary, gravely, and wandered back to the window again.

Roderick came in at this moment and kissed his mother, and then went over and joined Miss Garland.  Rowland sat with Mrs. Hudson, who evidently had a word which she deemed of some value for his private ear.  She followed Roderick with intensely earnest eyes.

“I wish to tell you, sir,” she said, “how very grateful—­how very thankful—­what a happy mother I am!  I feel as if I owed it all to you, sir.  To find my poor boy so handsome, so prosperous, so elegant, so famous—­and ever to have doubted of you!  What must you think of me?  You ’re our guardian angel, sir.  I often say so to Mary.”

Rowland wore, in response to this speech, a rather haggard brow.  He could only murmur that he was glad she found Roderick looking well.  He had of course promptly asked himself whether the best discretion dictated that he should give her a word of warning—­just turn the handle of the door through which, later, disappointment might enter.  He had determined to say nothing, but simply to wait in silence for Roderick to find effective inspiration in those confidently expectant eyes.  It was to be supposed that he was seeking for it now; he remained sometime at the window with his cousin.  But at last he turned away and came over to the fireside with a contraction of the eyebrows which seemed to intimate that Miss Garland’s influence was for the moment, at least, not soothing.  She presently followed him, and for an instant Rowland observed her watching him as if she thought him strange.  “Strange enough,” thought Rowland, “he may seem to her, if he will!” Roderick directed his glance to his friend with a certain peremptory air, which—­roughly interpreted—­was equivalent to a request to share the intellectual expense of entertaining the ladies.  “Good heavens!” Rowland cried within himself; “is he already tired of them?”

“To-morrow, of course, we must begin to put you through the mill,” Roderick said to his mother.  “And be it hereby known to Mallet that we count upon him to turn the wheel.”

“I will do as you please, my son,” said Mrs. Hudson.  “So long as I have you with me I don’t care where I go.  We must not take up too much of Mr. Mallet’s time.”

“His time is inexhaustible; he has nothing under the sun to do.  Have you, Rowland?  If you had seen the big hole I have been making in it!  Where will you go first?  You have your choice—­from the Scala Santa to the Cloaca Maxima.”

“Let us take things in order,” said Rowland.  “We will go first to Saint Peter’s.  Miss Garland, I hope you are impatient to see Saint Peter’s.”

“I would like to go first to Roderick’s studio,” said Miss Garland.

“It ’s a very nasty place,” said Roderick.  “At your pleasure!”

“Yes, we must see your beautiful things before we can look contentedly at anything else,” said Mrs. Hudson.

“I have no beautiful things,” said Roderick.  “You may see what there is!  What makes you look so odd?”