“If that be the case,” said Madame Rosenberg, in a low voice to her husband, “perhaps——”
“Babette!” he exclaimed, “you don’t know the value of such a watch as this!”
“Englishmen do not consider value as we do—I only thought if Mr. Hamilton had really bought it for Hildegarde, and cannot use it himself, it will be ungracious if she refuses it.”
“Very ungracious, indeed!” cried Hamilton eagerly.
Madame Rosenberg drew her husband aside, and began a whispered discussion. Hildegarde leaned against her table in painful embarrassment, while Hamilton quietly withdrew from his pocket a long gold chain which he had not before ventured to produce, and attached it to the watch.
“I shall not be allowed to accept it,” said Hildegarde, shaking her head.
“You will,” said Hamilton.
He was right; her father, in a reluctant, half-annoyed manner, gave his consent. “Thank you! Oh, thank you!” cried Hamilton, with such warmth that Madame Berger came skipping from the other side of the room, exclaiming, “I positively must know what Hildegarde has given you; you seem so uncommonly pleased!”
“That is a secret,” said Hamilton, laughingly turning away, while she pursued him with guesses.
“It is not the half-finished travelling-bag, at all events, for you could not put that into your pocket. Nor is it a purse, or a cigar-case. Oh, I know, a pair of slippers, or a portfolio worked on canvas! You may as well tell me, for I shall hear at all events from Crescenz! Have you seen what splendid ornaments the Major has given her? And the three bracelets? And then such droves of coffee-spoons as her god-mother has sent her from Augsburg—and Cressy is so childish that she does not care in the least for spoons?”