“Ah, study?” repeated Mr. Striker.  “To what line of study is he to direct his attention?” Then suddenly, with an impulse of disinterested curiosity on his own account, “How do you study sculpture, anyhow?”

“By looking at models and imitating them.”

“At models, eh?  To what kind of models do you refer?”

“To the antique, in the first place.”

“Ah, the antique,” repeated Mr. Striker, with a jocose intonation.  “Do you hear, madam?  Roderick is going off to Europe to learn to imitate the antique.”

“I suppose it ’s all right,” said Mrs. Hudson, twisting herself in a sort of delicate anguish.

“An antique, as I understand it,” the lawyer continued, “is an image of a pagan deity, with considerable dirt sticking to it, and no arms, no nose, and no clothing.  A precious model, certainly!”

“That ’s a very good description of many,” said Rowland, with a laugh.

“Mercy!  Truly?” asked Mrs. Hudson, borrowing courage from his urbanity.

“But a sculptor’s studies, you intimate, are not confined to the antique,” Mr. Striker resumed.  “After he has been looking three or four years at the objects I describe”—­

“He studies the living model,” said Rowland.

“Does it take three or four years?” asked Mrs. Hudson, imploringly.

“That depends upon the artist’s aptitude.  After twenty years a real artist is still studying.”

“Oh, my poor boy!” moaned Mrs. Hudson, finding the prospect, under every light, still terrible.

“Now this study of the living model,” Mr. Striker pursued.  “Inform Mrs. Hudson about that.”

“Oh dear, no!” cried Mrs. Hudson, shrinkingly.

“That too,” said Rowland, “is one of the reasons for studying in Rome.  It ’s a handsome race, you know, and you find very well-made people.”

“I suppose they ’re no better made than a good tough Yankee,” objected Mr. Striker, transposing his interminable legs.  “The same God made us.”

“Surely,” sighed Mrs. Hudson, but with a questioning glance at her visitor which showed that she had already begun to concede much weight to his opinion.  Rowland hastened to express his assent to Mr. Striker’s proposition.

Miss Garland looked up, and, after a moment’s hesitation:  “Are the Roman women very beautiful?” she asked.

Rowland too, in answering, hesitated; he was looking straight at the young girl.  “On the whole, I prefer ours,” he said.

She had dropped her work in her lap; her hands were crossed upon it, her head thrown a little back.  She had evidently expected a more impersonal answer, and she was dissatisfied.  For an instant she seemed inclined to make a rejoinder, but she slowly picked up her work in silence and drew her stitches again.

Rowland had for the second time the feeling that she judged him to be a person of a disagreeably sophisticated tone.  He noticed too that the kitchen towel she was hemming was terribly coarse.  And yet his answer had a resonant inward echo, and he repeated to himself, “Yes, on the whole, I prefer ours.”