THE afternoon of the next day the betrothal took place. Hamilton had expected an imposing ceremony, but not one of the many persons assembled appeared to consider it as anything but an occasion for drinking wine or coffee and eating cake. Crescenz and her sister must be excepted; they both looked greatly alarmed; and when the certificates of birth, baptism, vaccination, and confirmation had been laid on the table, and the marriage contract read aloud and presented for signature, Crescenz fairly attempted to rush out of the room. She was brought back with some difficulty; and it was from Hamilton’s hand that she received the pen with which she wrote her name. A present of a very handsome ring from Major Stultz seemed in some degree to restore her equanimity, and a glass of champagne, judiciously administered by her father, enabled her to receive the congratulations and enjoy the jokes of her bridesmaids. As evening drew on, the pianoforte was put in requisition, and dancing proposed. Hamilton immediately engaged Hildegarde; he was in England considered to dance well, and was, therefore, not a little surprised and mortified when, after a few turns, she sat down quietly, saying he was a most particularly disagreeable dancer. “You are the first person who has told me so,” he observed, somewhat piqued; for Englishmen are vulnerable on this point. “Others have _thought_ so, perhaps,” said Hildegarde, carelessly, and following with her eyes Crescenz and Major Stultz; the latter, forgetful of the hardship of his Russian campaign, and unmindful of the stoutness of his figure, was whirling round the room with a lightness which would have done credit to a man of one-and-twenty. “How very well Major Stultz dances!” said Hamilton, when Crescenz and her partner soon after stopped near them. “And you—why do you not dance?” asked Crescenz. “Your sister says I dance badly.” “I said you were a disagreeable dancer,” said Hildegarde; “other people may think differently; but I particularly dislike being held so close, and having——” Hamilton’s face became crimson, and she left her sentence unfinished. “Perhaps people dance differently in England,” suggested Crescenz. “Most probably they do not waltz at all there,” said Major Stultz. Hamilton explained with extraordinary warmth. “Well, at all events—it is—and will ever remain, a German national dance; and, so I suppose, without giving offence, I may say that we Germans dance it better than you English. I have no doubt that you dance country-dances and Scotch reels perfectly, but——” “I have never danced either the one or the other,” said Hamilton, with a look of sovereign contempt. “Well, Francaise’s quadrilles, or whatever you call those complicated dances now coming into fashion here.”