“I shall really be obliged to talk to myself at last! Every day a new prohibition!”
“What does the child mean?” said Madame Rosenberg, appealing to Major Stultz, whose colour visibly deepened. “What on earth does she mean? Has she not her brothers, her sisters, and you, and Mr. Hamilton to talk to?”
“No!” cried Crescenz, while tears of vexation started to her eyes, “he forbid my speaking to Mr. Hamilton before we came out to-day; and I am sure I don’t know why!”
“Then I must tell you why,” said Major Stultz, restrained anger evident in the tone of his voice. “It is because I have just begun to discover that you give yourself a vast deal too much trouble to please this Mr. Hamilton—your—your vanity is insatiable; and, I must say, you are the greatest coquette I ever saw!”
Crescenz burst into tears.
Major Stultz seemed immediately to repent his speech. He attempted to draw Crescenz’s arm within his, while he commenced an agitated apology; but she shrank from him, and between suppressed sobs stammered, “If—if such be your opinion—of me—the—the sooner we break off our engagement the—the better.”
“Crescenz, are you mad!” cried her step-mother, catching her arm, but Crescenz broke from her, and hurried on alone.
“Oh, pray, Mr. Hamilton, do have the kindness to talk a little reason to that headstrong girl,” said Madame Rosenberg, turning to Hamilton, who had been walking close behind them.
“Excuse me,” he said, quietly. “Now that I know Major Stultz’s wishes on the subject from himself, he may be quite sure of my not speaking much to Mademoiselle Crescenz in future. I have no right whatever to interfere with his claims.”
“We know you never thought of such a thing. Don’t we, Major!”