Page:The Novels and Tales of Henry James, Volume 1 (New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1907).djvu/427

 —to poor Mary? What have we done that he acts so strangely? It 's this wicked, infectious, heathenish place!" And the poor lady's suppressed mistrust of the Eternal City broke passionately out. "Oh, dear Mr. Mallet," she went on, "I'm sure it 's this poisonous air, that the fever 's on him and that he 's already delirious."

"I 'm very sure it 's not that," Mary distinctly protested.

She was still fixing Rowland, so that his eyes met hers and his own glance wandered away. This made him angry, and to carry off his confusion he pretended to be looking meditatively at the floor. After all, what had he to be ashamed of? For a moment he was on the point of making a clean breast of it, of crying out "Good ladies, I abdicate; I can't help you!" But he checked himself; he felt so impatient to have his three words with Christina. He grasped his hat. "I 'll see what it is and let you know." And then he was glad he had not abdicated, for as he turned away he glanced again at Mary and saw that, though her face was full of apprehensions, it was not hard and accusing, but charged with appealing friendship.

He went straight to Roderick's apartment, deeming this, at an early hour, the safest place to seek him. He found him in his sitting-room, which had been closely darkened to keep out the heat. The carpets and rugs had been removed, the floor of speckled concrete was bare and lightly sprinkled with water. Here and there, over it, certain strongly-odorous flowers had been scattered. Roderick was lying on 393