“I defy any one to point out a single fault,” cried Zedwitz, eagerly; “she is beautiful—Agnes, you, who understand so well what beauty is, tell me—is she not beautiful?” “She is the most beautiful person I ever saw,” answered Agnes, warmly; “indeed, mamma, there is some excuse for Max’s admiration.” “I don’t blame him or any one for admiring her; but Max spoke just now of more than admiration. He must not forget that she is _not noble_, and that her family are odiously vulgar.” “But she is not vulgar,” observed Agnes, kindly; “I have spoken to her two or three times, and think her a very nice person.” “Max knows that his father will never consent to such match,” answered the mother; “therefore there is no use in talking more about the matter.” She rose and prepared to leave them. “Want of fortune I could have overlooked, and you might have been sure of my assistance, although my hopes have long been fixed on another object; but—such a connection as this—I never can—I never will sanction.” Zedwitz waited until his mother was out of hearing, and then, drawing nearer his sister, said: “Well, Agnes, what is to be done now? Do you think she will tell my father?” “I think not directly; she knows you can do nothing without his consent.” “Agnes, I have a right to your assistance, and claim it; your reproaches led to this premature discovery——” “Not at all; mamma has been watching you the last three weeks.” “And pray, why did you not tell me so?” “I did not know it until a few days ago; and as you never come near me, or even look at me now, I had no opportunity of speaking to you on that, or indeed on any other subject.” “How well you women know how to mix up reproach and excuse together. If you had only just called me aside——” “If I had, you would have given me the answer which I have so often received from you lately.” “And what may that be?” Agnes rose playfully from her seat, with an appearance of extreme impatience, and exclaimed, while she looked around her, as if seeking someone else— “My dear creature! any other time; but you see—just now, in fact, I am particularly engaged!” Hamilton and Zedwitz laughed. “You little actress!” exclaimed the latter, drawing her towards him, and making her again sit down on the bench beside him. “I acknowledge that I have neglected you unpardonably, Agnes; but you have promised to forgive me, and I now require your assistance—come, tell me, what shall I do?” “You really wish to marry this Hildegarde?” “Most undoubtedly, if I can; but you know I am wholly in my father’s power, and she has no fortune whatever.” “The case seems rather hopeless at present,” said Agnes, seriously. “Have you spoken to her? Would she wait a few years?” “I have not spoken to her,” he answered, impatiently; “and as to waiting two or three years, I would rather give up the idea at once.”