Rowland was puzzled, baffled, charmed, inspired, almost, all at once.  “I have promised your mother,” he presently resumed, “to say something in favor of Prince Casamassima.”

She shook her head sadly.  “Prince Casamassima needs nothing that you can say for him.  He is a magnificent parti.  I know it perfectly.”

“You know also of the extreme affliction of your mother?”

“Her affliction is demonstrative.  She has been abusing me for the last twenty-four hours as if I were the vilest of the vile.”  To see Christina sit there in the purity of her beauty and say this, might have made one bow one’s head with a kind of awe.  “I have failed of respect to her at other times, but I have not done so now.  Since we are talking philosophy,” she pursued with a gentle smile, “I may say it ’s a simple matter!  I don’t love him.  Or rather, perhaps, since we are talking philosophy, I may say it ’s not a simple matter.  I spoke just now of inspiration.  The inspiration has been great, but—­I frankly confess it—­the choice has been hard.  Shall I tell you?” she demanded, with sudden ardor; “will you understand me?  It was on the one side the world, the splendid, beautiful, powerful, interesting world.  I know what that is; I have tasted of the cup, I know its sweetness.  Ah, if I chose, if I let myself go, if I flung everything to the winds, the world and I would be famous friends!  I know its merits, and I think, without vanity, it would see mine.  You would see some fine things!  I should like to be a princess, and I think I should be a very good one; I would play my part well.  I am fond of luxury, I am fond of a great society, I am fond of being looked at.  I am corrupt, corruptible, corruption!  Ah, what a pity that could n’t be, too!  Mercy of Heaven!” There was a passionate tremor in her voice; she covered her face with her hands and sat motionless.  Rowland saw that an intense agitation, hitherto successfully repressed, underlay her calmness, and he could easily believe that her battle had been fierce.  She rose quickly and turned away, walked a few paces, and stopped.  In a moment she was facing him again, with tears in her eyes and a flush in her cheeks.  “But you need n’t think I ’m afraid!” she said.  “I have chosen, and I shall hold to it.  I have something here, here, here!” and she patted her heart.  “It ’s my own.  I shan’t part with it.  Is it what you call an ideal?  I don’t know; I don’t care!  It is brighter than the Casamassima diamonds!”

“You say that certain things are your own affair,” Rowland presently rejoined; “but I must nevertheless make an attempt to learn what all this means—­what it promises for my friend Hudson.  Is there any hope for him?”

“This is a point I can’t discuss with you minutely.  I like him very much.”

“Would you marry him if he were to ask you?”

“He has asked me.”

“And if he asks again?”

“I shall marry no one just now.”