“But why not now? I detest delay—besides, I shall forget to ask you to-morrow.”
“No, you will not forget,” said Hamilton, laughing.
“But why will you not tell me now?” asked Hildegarde.
“Because I fear to shock you unnecessarily.”
“But I am not easily shocked,” observed Hildegarde.
“So I perceived from what you said this evening.”
“It is really not generous of you to harp continually on my defence of Oscar; I am willing to acknowledge that you were quite right in what you said about him—I know, too, I was wrong to be angry with mamma and Crescenz—but I do not like to be so perpetually reminded of my faults by you—you are not old enough—and—and—you bore me with your real or affected superiority.”
“Did I affect superiority we should never have quarrelled,” replied Hamilton, with evident vexation; “I only quarrel with my equals.”
“I quarrel with everybody,” said Hildegarde, with a sigh; “a passionate temper is a great misfortune—but I can and will learn to control it. Perhaps the fear of my losing my temper, and not the fear of shocking me, prevented you from telling your thoughts just now? Do not wait until to-morrow, but speak freely and at once.”
“Excuse me,” said Hamilton, rising, “I have changed my mind, and will neither speak now nor to-morrow—I have no right to correct, and certainly no wish to bore you.”