CHAPTER X. The Cavaliere 

There befell at last a couple of days during which Rowland was unable to go to the hotel. Late in the evening of the second one Roderick came into his room. In a few moments he announced that he had finished the bust of his mother. 

"And it 's magnificent!" he declared. "It 's one of the best things I have done." 

"I believe it," said Rowland. "Never again talk to me about your inspiration being dead." 

"Why not? This may be its last kick! I feel very tired. But it 's a masterpiece, though I do say it. They tell us we owe so much to our parents. Well, I 've paid the filial debt handsomely!" He walked up and down the room a few moments, with the purpose of his visit evidently still undischarged. "There 's one thing more I want to say," he presently resumed. "I feel as if I ought to tell you!" He stopped before Rowland with his head high and his brilliant glance unclouded. "Your invention is a failure!" 

"My invention?" Rowland repeated. 

"Bringing out my mother and Mary." 

"A failure?" 

"It 's no use! They don't help me." 

Rowland had fancied that Roderick had no more surprises for him; but he was now staring at him, wide-eyed. 

"They bore me!" Roderick went on. 

"Oh, oh!" cried Rowland. 

"Listen, listen!" said Roderick with perfect gentleness. "I am not complaining of them; I am simply stating a fact. I am very sorry for them; I am greatly disappointed." 
What was a failure?
"Your invention is a failure!"