“And suppose you have,” said Hildegarde, folding her hands together and looking Hamilton steadily in the face; “suppose, even, you have heard all that can be said against him, what does it amount to? Failings, faults, if you will, which, as he himself said this evening, every young man has been guilty of——Have you, yourself, been so immaculate that you feel authorised to judge him?” Hamilton blushed deeply, but did not answer. “I know,” continued Hildegarde, with increased warmth, “I know you think yourself superior to other people, but your present confusion proves that you have your weaknesses, too, with this difference, that you the while pretend to be a pattern of perfection, and others honestly confess their faults!” “Oh, Hildegarde!” cried Crescenz, deprecatingly. Hamilton crushed the card which he held in his hand, looked vexed, but still did not attempt to speak. “It is hard,” continued Hildegarde, more quietly, though her cheeks flushed deeply, “it is hard to judge a young man like Oscar without knowing the temptations to which he has been subjected.” Hamilton still remained silent; he began once more to build a tower with the cards. “Do you not hear me?” she asked, impatiently. “I am listening most attentively.” “Then why don’t you say something?” “Because a reply would only provoke another taunt on your part, and can answer no purpose whatever?” “I see—you think I have been hasty—I did not mean it—I am sorry if I have offended you.” Hamilton looked up and smiled, and Hildegarde continued—“We have so few relations—so very few. Oscar is our _only_ cousin. I cannot tell you how I felt to-day when he called me Hildegarde, and told me to consider him a brother. You will think me romantic when I assure you that I experienced an instantaneous prepossession in his favour, or rather a sort of affection which I thought it quite impossible to feel for a stranger! I suppose the recollection of my mother, faint though it be, partly caused this feeling. At all events, I have found it impossible not to think him the most amusing, clever—in short, the most fascinating person I ever met.” “Oh dear! How I should like to know him!” exclaimed Crescenz. “Then he is so very accomplished!—speaks French so perfectly—and plays the pianoforte as I have never heard it played. Fancy his being able to compose for hours together without ever being at a loss! able to follow all his thoughts, and express them beautifully in music! sometimes so sad, so melancholy, then gay and passionate, according to the impulse.” “I was not in the least aware that you cared for music,” said Hamilton, interrupting her with a look of unfeigned surprise, “you play the pianoforte so seldom, and——”