“I have no doubt it is,” replied Hamilton; “I would not answer for myself were I led into temptation. A great-uncle of mine made a marriage of this kind and it proved a very happy one—his friends, to provide for him quickly, used all their interest to send him out to India, where he made an enormous fortune, and as he has no children, has been, ever since his return, a sort of lawgiver in our family. I should not have been here now, if old Uncle Jack had not said that travelling was necessary to make me a man of the world, and that in Germany alone I could learn to speak the German well.” “But,” said Madame Rosenberg, “this marriage was a fortunate exception, for,” she added, with sundry winks and blinks towards Hildegarde, “for marriages against the consent of relations seldom or never turn out well. Let me give you some more salad, and then, as you are to leave so early to-morrow, I may as well pack up your things to-night.” “By no means,” cried Hamilton, “I must beg of you to send for Hans.” “Oh, young Hans is much too awkward, and the old man is gone to bed hours ago. I have been thinking, if you intend to keep Hans, that I will begin to teach him to be handy, and instead of Hildegarde’s arranging your linen, he must learn to do it from this time forward.” “That would be very kind of you,” said Hamilton. “For the sewing on of buttons, and all that,” continued Madame Rosenberg, delighted at the idea of giving instruction, “he must of course still apply to you, Hildegarde.” Hildegarde, who had been leaning back on her chair, diligently puckering and plaiting her pocket handkerchief, looked up for a moment, and replied: “Yes, mamma.” “I shall send for Hans, and give him his first lessons to-night,” said Madame Rosenberg, moving towards the door. “Wait a moment and I can accompany you,” cried Hamilton, quickly. “I shall be ready directly.” “Don’t hurry yourself,” said Madame Rosenberg; “you will have time enough before Hans comes up; and I must first see if Peppy has fallen asleep, and if he is properly covered. Don’t hurry yourself.” Why did Hamilton bend over his plate? and why did the colour mount to his temples as the door closed? Did he begin to entertain doubts of his indifference, or did he dread an explanation with Hildegarde? He scarcely knew himself, but he felt uncomfortable, and gave himself a quantity of trouble to prevent his companion from observing it. The distant roll of carriages had already informed them that the opera was over; but it was not until the sound of voices in the usually quiet street had made the immediate return of her father, sister, and Major Stultz probable, that Hildegarde summoned courage to say, in a very low voice, and without looking up, “What must you think of me——” “Do you wish to know what I think of you?” asked Hamilton, with affected negligence. “Yes; but do not again judge too harshly.” “I think,” he said, facing her deliberately, “I think you are very beautiful.”