HAMILTON prided himself upon being an excellent skater; it was, therefore, with no little satisfaction that he perceived, the next day, that he had been followed to the lake by the Rosenberg and Hoffmann families—no sooner, however, had Zedwitz seen the former, than his skates were thrown aside—a place beside Hildegarde secured, and he accompanied them home. This occurred several days successively, and Zedwitz at length, on finding that he had regained his former intimacy, ventured to give the proposed warning. Hamilton was at the moment sweeping before them, “on sounding skates a thousand different ways,” and exhibiting more than usual grace and animation. Zedwitz began judiciously by praising his rival—commended his person, his varied information and talents, the more extraordinary from his extreme youth, and then regretted that he had lost almost all the freshness belonging to his time of life, that his ideas were altogether those of a man of the world, that the society of an elder brother, an accomplished _vaurien_, had evidently been of great disadvantage to him, and had given him opinions, especially with respect to women, which were dangerous in the extreme. Hildegarde had listened with a composure so nearly verging on indifference, that Zedwitz, almost reassured, regretted having said so much, and had she continued silent, would have, perhaps, softened his last remark, but she looked up suddenly, and said with her usual energy, “Mr. Hamilton has never spoken of his brother to me, therefore I know nothing about him. You are, however, mistaken as to his opinion of women—he thinks much more highly of them than men generally do, and that he likes their society is evident by his remaining so much at home with us. Mamma says she never knew any young man so perfectly well educated, and so excellent in every respect.” Zedwitz was not aware of the peculiarity in Hildegarde’s disposition which led her invariably to defend the absent; he was, therefore, greatly vexed, and with difficulty stammered, “And you—you—perhaps—think equally highly of him?” “Perhaps I do—the more I know him, the better I like him,” replied Hildegarde, bluntly. “I am answered,” murmured Zedwitz, biting his lip, “my warning comes too late—he knew it when he gave me leave to speak.” “Who gave you leave? What warning?” asked Hildegarde, quickly. Zedwitz had gone too far to recede, and he now became perfectly explicit. Hildegarde again listened calmly, and when he ceased, observed half reproachfully, “When Mr. Hamilton speaks of you, it is not to warn me—but let us pass over that. I must, however, tell you that you have not in your warning said anything which I have not already heard from himself.” “That’s it!” cried Zedwitz, with ill-concealed impatience, “he acted honourably in putting you on your guard, but he now considers himself at liberty to win your affections if he can!”