"It is very good of you. Do you remember our talking about that in
Northampton?"
"During that picnic? Perfectly. Has your coming abroad succeeded, for
yourself, as well as you hoped?"
"I think I may say that it has turned out as well as I expected."
"Are you happy?"
"Don't I look so?"
"So it seems to me. But"--and she hesitated a moment--"I imagine you
look happy whether you are so or not."
"I 'm like that ancient comic mask that we saw just now in yonder
excavated fresco: I am made to grin."
"Shall you come back here next winter?"
"Very probably."
"Are you settled here forever?"
"'Forever' is a long time. I live only from year to year."
"Shall you never marry?"
Rowland gave a laugh. "'Forever'--'never!' You handle large ideas. I
have not taken a vow of celibacy."
"Would n't you like to marry?"
"I should like it immensely."
To this she made no rejoinder: but presently she asked, "Why don't you
write a book?"
Rowland laughed, this time more freely. "A book! What book should I
write?"
"A history; something about art or antiquities."
"I have neither the learning nor the talent.
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