As far as Mr. Hamilton was concerned, the soup might have remained in the kitchen all day; he had not yet learned to eat ordinary German soup, which, when not thickened into a “family broth,” very much resembled the weak beef-tea decocted by careful housekeepers for invalids; he therefore played with his spoon until the boiled beef, which invariably succeeds, had made its appearance, and finished his repast with a piece of _zwetschgen_ cake, which he found excellent, and much more easy to eat than to pronounce. The whole family rose from table at the same moment, and Hamilton was in the act of opening the door leading into the drawing-room, when he heard Madame Rosenberg call out— “Hildegarde, pick up Mr. Hamilton’s napkin; don’t you see it lying on the floor?” Hamilton sprang forward, raised, and threw it with a jerk across the back of his chair, not clearly understanding what possible difference it could make, and thinking Madame Rosenberg very unnecessarily particular. His surprise was therefore great when he saw Hildegarde take the crumpled towel and, having endeavoured to lay it in the original folds, bind it with a piece of blue ribbon which had been placed on the table beside him for the purpose. “Mr. Smith told me that people did not generally use napkins in England,” said Madame Rosenberg, sagaciously nodding her head. “Not use napkins! you surely must have misunderstood him; perhaps he said people did not use the same napkin twice!” “Not use a napkin twice!” cried Madame Rosenberg. “If that were the case I should have a pretty washing at the end of the three months! Rosenberg gets but two a week, and has moustaches. I expect that you will be able to manage, like the girls, with one.” “I shall certainly cultivate a moustache forthwith, if it were only for the purpose of getting the two napkins a week!” said Hamilton, good-humouredly laughing as he left the room. --------------------- CHAPTER XI. THE BETROTHAL.