Christina was silent. She stretched out her bare arm and looked at it a moment absently, turning it so as to see—or almost to see—the dimple in her elbow. This was apparently a frequent gesture with her; Rowland had already observed it. It was as coolly and naturally done as if she had been in her room alone. “So he ‘s a man of genius,” she suddenly resumed. “Don’t you think I ought to be extremely flattered to have a man of genius perpetually hanging about? He is the first I ever saw, but I should have known he was not a common mortal. There is something strange about him. To begin with, he has no manners. You may say that it ‘s not for me to blame him, for I have none myself. That ‘s very true, but the difference is that I can have them when I wish to (and very charming ones too; I ‘ll show you some day); whereas Mr. Hudson will never have them. And yet, somehow, one sees he ‘s a gentleman. He seems to have something urging, driving, pushing him, making him restless and defiant. You see it in his eyes. They are the finest, by the way, I ever saw. When a person has such eyes as that you can forgive him his bad manners. I suppose that is what they call the sacred fire.”
Rowland made no answer except to ask her in a moment if she would have another roll. She merely shook her head and went on:—
“Tell me how you found him. Where was he—how was he?”
“He was in a place called Northampton. Did you ever hear of it? He was studying law—but not learning it.”
“It appears it was something horrible, eh?”
“Something horrible?”
“This little village. No society, no pleasures, no beauty, no life.”
“You have received a false impression. Northampton is not as gay as Rome, but Roderick had some charming friends.”
“Tell me about them. Who were they?”
“Well, there was my cousin, through whom I made his acquaintance: a delightful woman.”