Hildegarde turned from Hamilton with a slightly conscious blush. Never had he seen or imagined anyone so lovely as she appeared to him at that moment. The long, waving ringlets of her rich brown hair relieved the slightly severe expression of her almost too regular features, while her beautifully-formed figure, seen to advantage in her light ball-dress, attracted equally by its roundness and delicacy. Had Hamilton seen her for the first time that evening, he would have been captivated. When we, however, remember that she had been for months the object of his first love, that he had resided in the same house, and had had opportunities of knowing and judging her by no means commonplace ideas, as they had studied together, and that he was at a time of life when the feelings are most impetuous, we may form some idea of the emotion which, for some minutes, deprived him of the power of utterance. Hildegarde was so perfectly independent in thought and action; she required so little of that protection which her sex usually seek, that had she not been eminently handsome, she would probably have found more people disposed to admire her character than love her person. Men especially do not often bestow affection on such women; but, when they do, it is with a degree of passion which they seldom or never feel for the more gentle or weaker of the sex. And so, irresistibly attracted by her beauty, and perhaps hoping to find feelings as strong as her mind, three men now loved her with characteristic fervour; her cousin, with an intensity bordering on insanity; Zedwitz with the glowing steadiness of his disposition and years, and Hamilton with all the ardour of extreme youth. “I thought Hildegarde would have worn one of my bracelets this evening,” said Crescenz. “I offered her the choice of them all!” “That was very kind of you, Crescenz,” said her father, “but Hildegarde does not care for ornaments of that kind.” “But look at that ugly little hair-bracelet which she insists upon wearing,” said Crescenz, laughing. “If she had bracelets of her own, she would wear them, I am sure. Everyone must like bracelets!” Mr. Rosenberg took Hildegarde’s hand, and raised her passive arm towards his eyes, in order to inspect the bracelet. “It is not ugly, nor ill chosen either,” he observed, smiling; “a black bracelet makes an arm look fairer still; but I own I did not think my treasure studied such things!” Hildegarde, with a look of annoyance, hastily unclasped the bracelet, and threw it into her work-basket. “Don’t be offended, Hildegarde. Every woman should endeavour to improve her appearance as much as possible. Your arm is round and white, and the bracelet pretty; it ought, perhaps, to have been a little broader, but the horsehair was scarce, it seems! However, you can wear it very creditably; at a little distance, people will think it the hair of some very dear friend!”