Crescenz looked silly, and turned away.
“Half-past six!” cried Mr. Rosenberg, looking at his watch; “I must be off. Mr. Hamilton seems to forget that he intended to go with me to the theatre. The overture will be over.”
“But not the ballet,” said Hamilton, “and the ballet in Robert is what I like best; if I be in time for that and the Princess’s aria, I am satisfied.”
Mr. Rosenberg, who went regularly four times a week to the theatre, and particularly disliked arriving late, partly from the fear of being obliged to walk over his neighbors’ feet in order to reach his chair, partly from long habits of punctuality, after a few minutes’ indulgence of civilly expressive impatience, quitted the room, bowing over his watch, which he still held in his hand, as a sort of excuse to Hamilton.
“I thought you intended to go to?” said Crescenz to Major Stultz.
“Yes, Zimmermann has given me his place to-night, but I believe I shall wait for Mr. Hamilton.”
“I shall be delighted,” said Hamilton, “but you must not expect me to leave this warm room for an hour at least.”
“An hour!” exclaimed Major Stultz; “why, half the opera will be over.”
“Very likely, but I have heard it so often.”
“Do you forget the ballet?”