Rowland, communing with himself during the restless ramble in question, had determined that he would at least cease to observe, to heed, or to care for what Miss Garland and Roderick might do or might not do together.  Nevertheless, some three days afterward, the opportunity presenting itself, he deliberately broached the subject with Roderick.  He knew this was inconsistent and faint-hearted; it was indulgence to the fingers that itched to handle forbidden fruit.  But he said to himself that it was really more logical to be inconsistent than the reverse; for they had formerly discussed these mysteries very candidly.  Was it not perfectly reasonable that he should wish to know the sequel of the situation which Roderick had then delineated?  Roderick had made him promises, and it was to be expected that he should ascertain how the promises had been kept.  Rowland could not say to himself that if the promises had been extorted for Mary Garland’s sake, his present attention to them was equally disinterested; and so he had to admit that he was indeed faint-hearted.  He may perhaps be deemed too narrow a casuist, but we have repeated more than once that he was solidly burdened with a conscience.

“I imagine,” he said to Roderick, “that you are not sorry, at present, to have allowed yourself to be dissuaded from making a final rupture with Miss Garland.”

Roderick eyed him with the vague and absent look which had lately become habitual to his face, and repeated “Dissuaded?”

“Don’t you remember that, in Rome, you wished to break your engagement, and that I urged you to respect it, though it seemed to hang by so slender a thread?  I wished you to see what would come of it?  If I am not mistaken, you are reconciled to it.”

“Oh yes,” said Roderick, “I remember what you said; you made it a kind of personal favor to yourself that I should remain faithful.  I consented, but afterwards, when I thought of it, your attitude greatly amused me.  Had it ever been seen before?—­a man asking another man to gratify him by not suspending his attentions to a pretty girl!”

“It was as selfish as anything else,” said Rowland.  “One man puts his selfishness into one thing, and one into another.  It would have utterly marred my comfort to see Miss Garland in low spirits.”

“But you liked her—­you admired her, eh?  So you intimated.”

“I admire her profoundly.”

“It was your originality then—­to do you justice you have a great deal, of a certain sort—­to wish her happiness secured in just that fashion.  Many a man would have liked better himself to make the woman he admired happy, and would have welcomed her low spirits as an opening for sympathy.  You were awfully queer about it.”

“So be it!” said Rowland.  “The question is, Are you not glad I was queer?  Are you not finding that your affection for Miss Garland has a permanent quality which you rather underestimated?”