“You unnatural child!” cried mamma.  “You deserve that I should make a fright of you!” And with half a dozen skillful passes she twisted the tresses into a single picturesque braid, placed high on the head, as a kind of coronal.

“What does your mother do when she wants to do you justice?” Rowland asked, observing the admirable line of the young girl’s neck.

“I do her justice when I say she says very improper things.  What is one to do with such a thorn in the flesh?” Mrs. Light demanded.

“Think of it at your leisure, Mr. Mallet,” said Christina, “and when you ’ve discovered something, let us hear.  But I must tell you that I shall not willingly believe in any remedy of yours, for you have something in your physiognomy that particularly provokes me to make the remarks that my mother so sincerely deplores.  I noticed it the first time I saw you.  I think it ’s because your face is so broad.  For some reason or other, broad faces exasperate me; they fill me with a kind of rabbia.  Last summer, at Carlsbad, there was an Austrian count, with enormous estates and some great office at court.  He was very attentive—­seriously so; he was really very far gone.  Cela ne tenait qu’ a moi!  But I could n’t; he was impossible!  He must have measured, from ear to ear, at least a yard and a half.  And he was blond, too, which made it worse—­as blond as Stenterello; pure fleece!  So I said to him frankly, ’Many thanks, Herr Graf; your uniform is magnificent, but your face is too fat.’”

“I am afraid that mine also,” said Rowland, with a smile, “seems just now to have assumed an unpardonable latitude.”

“Oh, I take it you know very well that we are looking for a husband, and that none but tremendous swells need apply.  Surely, before these gentlemen, mamma, I may speak freely; they are disinterested.  Mr. Mallet won’t do, because, though he ’s rich, he ’s not rich enough.  Mamma made that discovery the day after we went to see you, moved to it by the promising look of your furniture.  I hope she was right, eh?  Unless you have millions, you know, you have no chance.”

“I feel like a beggar,” said Rowland.

“Oh, some better girl than I will decide some day, after mature reflection, that on the whole you have enough.  Mr. Hudson, of course, is nowhere; he has nothing but his genius and his beaux yeux.”

Roderick had stood looking at Christina intently while she delivered herself, softly and slowly, of this surprising nonsense.  When she had finished, she turned and looked at him; their eyes met, and he blushed a little.  “Let me model you, and he who can may marry you!” he said, abruptly.

Mrs. Light, while her daughter talked, had been adding a few touches to her coiffure.  “She is not so silly as you might suppose,” she said to Rowland, with dignity.  “If you will give me your arm, we will go and look at the bust.”

“Does that represent a silly girl?” Christina demanded, when they stood before it.