Rowland had purchased, as he supposed, temporary tranquillity for Mary Garland; but his own humor in these days was not especially peaceful.  He was attempting, in a certain sense, to lead the ideal life, and he found it, at the least, not easy.  The days passed, but brought with them no official invitation to Miss Light’s wedding.  He occasionally met her, and he occasionally met Prince Casamassima; but always separately, never together.  They were apparently taking their happiness in the inexpressive manner proper to people of social eminence.  Rowland continued to see Madame Grandoni, for whom he felt a confirmed affection.  He had always talked to her with frankness, but now he made her a confidant of all his hidden dejection.  Roderick and Roderick’s concerns had been a common theme with him, and it was in the natural course to talk of Mrs. Hudson’s arrival and Miss Garland’s fine smile.  Madame Grandoni was an intelligent listener, and she lost no time in putting his case for him in a nutshell.  “At one moment you tell me the girl is plain,” she said; “the next you tell me she ’s pretty.  I will invite them, and I shall see for myself.  But one thing is very clear:  you are in love with her.”

Rowland, for all answer, glanced round to see that no one heard her.

“More than that,” she added, “you have been in love with her these two years.  There was that certain something about you!...  I knew you were a mild, sweet fellow, but you had a touch of it more than was natural.  Why did n’t you tell me at once?  You would have saved me a great deal of trouble.  And poor Augusta Blanchard too!” And herewith Madame Grandoni communicated a pertinent fact:  Augusta Blanchard and Mr. Leavenworth were going to make a match.  The young lady had been staying for a month at Albano, and Mr. Leavenworth had been dancing attendance.  The event was a matter of course.  Rowland, who had been lately reproaching himself with a failure of attention to Miss Blanchard’s doings, made some such observation.

“But you did not find it so!” cried his hostess.  “It was a matter of course, perhaps, that Mr. Leavenworth, who seems to be going about Europe with the sole view of picking up furniture for his ‘home,’ as he calls it, should think Miss Blanchard a very handsome piece; but it was not a matter of course—­or it need n’t have been—­that she should be willing to become a sort of superior table-ornament.  She would have accepted you if you had tried.”

“You are supposing the insupposable,” said Rowland.  “She never gave me a particle of encouragement.”

“What would you have had her do?  The poor girl did her best, and I am sure that when she accepted Mr. Leavenworth she thought of you.”

“She thought of the pleasure her marriage would give me.”

“Ay, pleasure indeed!  She is a thoroughly good girl, but she has her little grain of feminine spite, like the rest.  Well, he ’s richer than you, and she will have what she wants; but before I forgive you I must wait and see this new arrival—­what do you call her?—­Miss Garland.  If I like her, I will forgive you; if I don’t, I shall always bear you a grudge.”