“Are you afraid to trust her to my care?” asked Hamilton, laughing.
Major Stultz rapped on the table with his fingers, and looked significantly towards Madame Rosenberg.
“You surely do not think I shall be so awkward as to upset the sledge?” continued Hamilton.
“I have the highest opinion of you, Mr. Hamilton, the highest opinion—where horses are concerned,” began Major Stultz, with some embarrassment, while Hamilton rubbed his upper lip to hide a smile. “Had you a carriage instead of a sledge, the case would be different, and I—but I see you understand me.”
“Not in the least,” said Hamilton, looking up in unfeigned astonishment.
“Crescenz does, however,” said Major Stultz, turning to his betrothed, whose face was suffused with blushes.
Madame Rosenberg had been occupied with little Peppy—she was arranging the broken harness of a wooden carthorse, which had been dragged somewhat roughly round the room. She now looked up, and observed in a low voice, and with a sort of expressive wink at Major Stultz, “Mr. Hamilton, being an Englishman, knows nothing about sledging rights. Keep your own counsel, and he will never think of claiming it.”
“He may claim it from whoever he pleases,” cried Major Stultz, bluntly; “but not from my Crescenz, that’s all.”
“What is it—what is my right? What may I claim?” asked Hamilton, quickly.
No one seemed disposed to explain, until at length Madame Rosenberg replied, laughing, “Neither more nor less than a kiss, which is a sort of old privilege allowed a gentleman if he drive a lady in a sledge! Now I know that from me you will not claim it, because I am neither young nor pretty—nor from Hildegarde, because you don’t like her well enough—nor from Crescenz, because she is betrothed. So really, Major, I see no reason for making such a serious face.”