had a flavor of patronage. To perform punctiliously his
mysterious duties toward the two ladies, and to elude or to baffle
observation on his own merits--this seemed the Cavaliere's modest
programme. Rowland perceived that Mrs. Light, who was not always
remarkable for tact, seemed to have divined his humor on this point.
She touched her glass to her lips, but offered him no compliment and
immediately gave another direction to the conversation. He had brought
no guitar, so that when the feast was over there was nothing to hold the
little group together. Christina wandered away with Roderick to another
part of the terrace; the prince, whose smile had vanished, sat gnawing
the head of his cane, near Mrs. Light, and Rowland strolled apart
with the Cavaliere, to whom he wished to address a friendly word in
compensation for the discomfort he had inflicted on his modesty. The
Cavaliere was a mine of information upon all Roman places and people;
he told Rowland a number of curious anecdotes about the old Villa
Mondragone. "If history could always be taught in this fashion!" thought
Rowland. "It 's the ideal--strolling up and down on the very spot
commemorated, hearing sympathetic anecdotes from deeply indigenous
lips." At last, as they passed, Rowland observed the mournful
physiognomy of Prince Casamassima, and, glancing toward the other end of
the terrace, saw that Roderick and Christina had disappeared from view.
The young man was sitting upright, in an attitude, apparently habitual,
of ceremonious rigidity; but his lower jaw had fallen and was propped
up with his cane, and his dull dark eye was fixed upon the angle of the
villa which had just eclipsed Miss Light and her companion. His features
were grotesque and his expression vacuous; but there was a lurking
delicacy in his face which seemed to tell you that nature had been
making Casamassimas for a great many centuries, and, though she adapted
her mould to circumstances, had learned to mix her material to an
extraordinary fineness and to perform the whole operation with extreme
smoothness. The prince was stupid, Rowland suspected, but he imagined
he was amiable, and he saw that at any rate he had the great quality
of regarding himself in a thoroughly serious light. Rowland touched his
companion's arm and pointed to the melancholy nobleman.

"Why in the world does he not go after her and insist on being noticed!"
he asked.

"Oh, he 's very proud!" said the Cavaliere.

"T