"Yes, let us close no doors that open upon Rome.

For this, for the mind, is eternal summer! But though my doors may stand open to-day," he presently added, "I shall see no visitors.

I want to pause and breathe; I want to dream of a statue.
I have been working hard for three months; I have earned a right to a reverie." Rowland, on his side, was not without provision for reflection, and they lingered on in broken, desultory talk.

Rowland felt the need for intellectual rest, for a truce to present care for churches, statues, and pictures, on even better grounds than his companion, inasmuch as he had really been living Roderick's intellectual life the past three months, as well as his own.

As he looked back on these full-flavored weeks, he drew a long breath of satisfaction, almost of relief.
Roderick, thus far, had justified his confidence and flattered his perspicacity; he was rapidly unfolding into an ideal brilliancy.