“Sorry, I have a most particular engagement,” began Zedwitz, who was now standing on the road, and stamping his feet on the frozen ground, as if they had been cramped.
“You forget you intended to skate with me,” cried Hamilton, laughing, while he jumped out of the carriage, took Zedwitz’s arm, and walked off quickly with him, neither speaking for several minutes.
“Are you jealous?” asked Hamilton, at length.
“You know best whether or not I have cause to be.”
“You have no cause—although I am sorry to be obliged to confess to you that I too begin to find Hildegarde altogether irresistible, but she does not care in the least for me, and even were it otherwise, my case is more hopeless than yours. Your parents will at least vouchsafe to make a flattering opposition, which, as you are an only son, must terminate in consent if you are firm—mine would overwhelm me with scornful ridicule were I to hint at anything so preposterous as an early marriage. It is I, in fact, who ought to be jealous, and desperately jealous too, if you knew but all.”
“But her anxiety about you just now——”
“Was more natural than flattering,” said Hamilton; “she has got the habit of taking care of me during my illness, and even lately exacts a sort of obedience in trifles, which, however, I willingly pay, as she allows me to tyrannise in other respects.”
“But still, I consider you so very dangerous a rival——” began Zedwitz.
“By no means, for though I wish to gain some of Hildegarde’s esteem, if not affection, I can never speak to her seriously on that subject which alone could interfere with your wishes.”
“Do you advise me then to persevere?” asked Zedwitz.