Mrs. Hudson gave Rowland, on his entrance, a touching look of gratitude.
"Oh, we have such blessed news!" she said. "Roderick is ready to leave
Rome."
"It 's not blessed news; it 's most damnable news!" cried Roderick.
"Oh, but we are very glad, my son, and I am sure you will be when you
get away. You 're looking most dreadfully thin; is n't he, Mr. Mallet?
It 's plain enough you need a change. I 'm sure we will go wherever you
like. Where would you like to go?"
Roderick turned his head slowly and looked at her. He had let her take
his hand, which she pressed tenderly between her own. He gazed at
her for some time in silence. "Poor mother!" he said at last, in a
portentous tone.
"My own dear son!" murmured Mrs. Hudson in all the innocence of her
trust.
"I don't care a straw where you go! I don't care a straw for anything!"
"Oh, my dear boy, you must not say that before all of us here--before
Mary, before Mr. Mallet!"
"Mary--Mr. Mallet?" Roderick repeated, almost savagely. He released
himself from the clasp of his mother's hand and turned away, leaning
his elbows on his knees and holding his head in his hands.
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