The other drew a long breath. Was it of relief? Perhaps he had spoken only to discover whether his rival had been long enough in the neighborhood to have secured any advantage. “We brought over the old nurse with us--the woman, you know, who-- Oh, I forgot, you don’t know,” Hamerton added, hastily. This was said innocently enough, but it offended the elder suitor, jealous and angry after the unreasonable manner of a lover, that any one, much less this young fellow, whose pretensions were so ridiculous, should have known her and her circumstances before and better than himself. “I prefer not to know anything that the Trevanions do not wish to be known,” he said sharply. It was not true, for his whole being quivered with eagerness to know everything about them, all that could be told; but at the same time there was in his harsh tones a certain justness of reproach that brought the color to young Hamerton’s face. “You are quite right,” he said; “it is not my business to say word.” And then there was silence again. It was growing late. The verandas of the great hotel, a little while ago full of chattering groups, were all vacant; the lights had flitted up-stairs; a few weary waiters lounged about the doors, anxiously waiting till the two Englishmen--so culpably incautious about the night air and the draughts, so brutally indifferent to the fact that Jules and Adolphe and the rest had to get up very early in the morning and longed to be in bed--should come in, and all things be shut up; but neither Hamerton nor Rivers thought of Adolphe and Jules. Finally, after a long silence, the younger man spoke again. His mind was full of one subject, and he wanted some one to speak to, were it only his rival. “This cannot be a healthy place,” he said; “they are not looking well--they are all--upset. I suppose it is bad for--the nerves--” “Perhaps there may be other reasons,” said Rivers. His heart stirred within him at the thought that agitation, perhaps of a nature kindred to his own, might be affecting the one person who was uppermost in the thoughts of both--for he did not doubt that Hamerton, who had said _them_, meant Rosalind. That she might be pale with anticipation, nervous and tremulous in this last moment of suspense! the idea brought a rush of blood to his face, and a warm flood of tender thoughts and delight to his heart. “I don’t know what other reasons,” said Hamerton. “She thinks-- I mean there is nothing thought of but those children. Something has happened to them. The old nurse, the woman-- I told you--came over with us to take them in hand. Poor little things? it is not much to be wondered at--” he said, and then stopped short, with the air of a man who might have a great deal to say.