“Never in the world! My hands are tied. Do you know what Christina would do? She would tell the Cavaliere to go about his business--Heaven forgive her!--and send me word that, if she had a mind to, she would walk in the woods till midnight. Fancy the Cavaliere coming back and delivering such a message as that before the prince! Think of a girl wantonly making light of such a chance as hers! He would marry her to-morrow, at six o’clock in the morning!” “It is certainly very sad,” said Rowland. “That costs you little to say. If you had left your precious young meddler to vegetate in his native village you would have saved me a world of distress!” “Nay, you marched into the jaws of danger,” said Rowland. “You came and disinterred poor Hudson in his own secluded studio.” “In an evil hour! I wish to Heaven you would talk with him.” “I have done my best.” “I wish, then, you would take him away. You have plenty of money. Do me a favor. Take him to travel. Go to the East--go to Timbuctoo. Then, when Christina is Princess Casamassima,” Mrs. Light added in a moment, “he may come back if he chooses.” “Does she really care for him?” Rowland asked, abruptly. “She thinks she does, possibly. She is a living riddle. She must needs follow out every idea that comes into her head. Fortunately, most of them don’t last long; but this one may last long enough to give the prince a chill. If that were to happen, I don’t know what I should do! I should be the most miserable of women. It would be too cruel, after all I ‘ve suffered to make her what she is, to see the labor of years blighted by a caprice. For I can assure you, sir,” Mrs. Light went on, “that if my daughter is the greatest beauty in the world, some of the credit is mine.”