“It must be very pleasant to have a light as long as one pleases at night! Mamma is quite surprised when I ask for a candle oftener than every three days, and then she always observes that sitting up at night is very injurious to the health and eyes, and I get nothing but little ends of candle for a fortnight afterwards.”
“I will give you as many candles as you can burn,” said Hamilton, laughing.
“That was not what I meant,” said Hildegarde in great confusion. “I dare say mamma is right. For in summer, though I only read in bed from daylight until six o’clock, I have often felt terribly fatigued during the day afterwards—I heard mamma tell papa, that if you were her son, she would go into your room every night at ten o’clock, and put out your candles.”
“I do not exactly wish her to be my mother, for the sake of having a living extinguisher, which I should consider rather a bore than otherwise,” said Hamilton, “but if she were my mother, you would of course be my sister, and I should have no objection to that relationship.”
“Have you a sister?” asked Hildegarde, abruptly.
“Yes, an only sister, and I like her better than all my brothers put together.”
“And do you not quarrel with her?”
“Never. She is my most intimate friend when I am at home, my principal correspondent when I am abroad. She is the most amiable, the most excellent of human beings!”
“Older? much older than you?” asked Hildegarde, with some appearance of interest.
“Only a year or two,” replied Hamilton. “We learned French as children together, and afterwards Italian and German. You will take her place to-morrow or the day after, when we begin our studies, and if you wish to learn to speak English, I am quite willing to assist you.”