Page:The Novels and Tales of Henry James, Volume 1 (New York, Charles Scribner's Sons, 1907).djvu/547

 you know, damns me more than anything," Roderick went on. "Certainly I can shut up shop now."

Rowland's immediate, his personal relief had dropped after speaking; yet at sight of the way such a character could hang together he still felt justified. It was egotism always — the shock of taste, the humiliation of a proved blunder, the sense, above all, of a flagrant want of grace; but never a hint of simple sorrow for pain inflicted. He let the poor boy go and for some moments stood watching him; then of a sudden he yielded to an impulse all inconsequent, a desire to stop him, to have another word with him, not to lose sight of him. He called out, and Roderick turned. "I should like to go with you," said our friend.

"Oh, I 'm fit only to be alone. It 's awful!"

"You had better not think of it at all," Rowland cried, "than think in that way."

"There's only one way. I've been grotesque!" And he broke off and marched away, taking long steps and swinging his stick. Rowland still watched him and in another instant called to him again. Roderick stopped and looked back in silence; after which, abruptly turning, he disappeared below the crest of a hill.