desolation of the Campagna.  As the season went on and the social groups began to constitute themselves, he found that he knew a great many people and that he had easy opportunity for knowing others.  He enjoyed a quiet corner of a drawing-room beside an agreeable woman, and although the machinery of what calls itself society seemed to him to have many superfluous wheels, he accepted invitations and made visits punctiliously, from the conviction that the only way not to be overcome by the ridiculous side of most of such observances is to take them with exaggerated gravity.  He introduced Roderick right and left, and suffered him to make his way himself—­an enterprise for which Roderick very soon displayed an all-sufficient capacity.  Wherever he went he made, not exactly what is called a favorable impression, but what, from a practical point of view, is better—­a puzzling one.  He took to evening parties as a duck to water, and before the winter was half over was the most freely and frequently discussed young man in the heterogeneous foreign colony.  Rowland’s theory of his own duty was to let him run his course and play his cards, only holding himself ready to point out shoals and pitfalls, and administer a friendly propulsion through tight places.  Roderick’s manners on the precincts of the Pincian were quite the same as his manners on Cecilia’s veranda:  that is, they were no manners at all.  But it remained as true as before that it would have been impossible, on the whole, to violate ceremony with less of lasting offense.  He interrupted, he contradicted, he spoke to people he had never seen, and left his social creditors without the smallest conversational interest on their loans; he lounged and yawned, he talked loud when he should have talked low, and low when he should have talked loud.  Many people, in consequence, thought him insufferably conceited, and declared that he ought to wait till he had something to show for his powers, before he assumed the airs of a spoiled celebrity.  But to Rowland and to most friendly observers this judgment was quite beside the mark, and the young man’s undiluted naturalness was its own justification.  He was impulsive, spontaneous, sincere; there were so many people at dinner-tables and in studios who were not, that it seemed worth while to allow this rare specimen all possible freedom of action.  If Roderick took the words out of your mouth when you were just prepared to deliver them with the most effective accent, he did it with a perfect good conscience and with no pretension of a better right to being heard, but simply because he was full to overflowing of his own momentary thought and it sprang from his lips without asking leave.  There were persons who waited on your periods much more deferentially, who were a hundred times more capable than Roderick of a reflective impertinence.  Roderick received from various sources, chiefly feminine, enough finely-adjusted advice to have established him in life as an embodiment of the proprieties, and he received