"This is folly, sir. You must keep your engagements."
"I made no engagement. A sculptor is n't a tailor. Did you ever hear of
inspiration? Mine is dead! And it 's no laughing matter. You yourself
killed it."
"I--I--killed your inspiration?" cried Mr. Leavenworth, with the accent
of righteous wrath. "You 're a very ungrateful boy! If ever I encouraged
and cheered and sustained any one, I 'm sure I have done so to you."
"I appreciate your good intentions, and I don't wish to be uncivil. But
your encouragement is--superfluous. I can't work for you!"
"I call this ill-humor, young man!" said Mr. Leavenworth, as if he had
found the damning word.
"Oh, I 'm in an infernal humor!" Roderick answered.
"Pray, sir, is it my infelicitous allusion to Miss Light's marriage?"
"It 's your infelicitous everything! I don't say that to offend you;
I beg your pardon if it does. I say it by way of making our rupture
complete, irretrievable!"
Rowland had stood by in silence, but he now interfered. "Listen to me,"
he said, laying his hand on Roderick's arm. "You are standing on the
edge of a gulf.
Pages:
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378