“Do you mean deliberately to insult me?” asked Raimund, in a voice of suppressed rage.
“No, Oscar,” cried Hildegarde, laying her hand hastily on his arm. “It is you who are endeavouring to commence a quarrel with Mr. Hamilton. You feel that you are in the wrong, and that you ought not to have made such a remark in public of a person to whom you are to be married in less than a week.”
“You may say what you please to me, Hildegarde, but neither Mr. Hamilton nor anyone else shall dare by word or look to imply——”
Hamilton turned away with a smile of unequivocal contempt.
“What do you mean, sir?” cried Raimund, starting from his seat, and facing him while he folded his arms.
“I mean that this is no place for such words—still less for such gestures,” replied Hamilton, glancing round him. The loudness of the music, however, had prevented them from being heard.
“Oscar,” cried Hildegarde, vehemently, “sit down beside me. Listen to me—you must listen to me. You are altogether in the wrong—you are rude and irritating, and ought to be ashamed of yourself. Do not try Mr. Hamilton’s patience further.”
“I have no intention of doing so,” said Raimund, biting his lip, and frowning fearfully.
Hildegarde looked anxiously, first on her cousin and then at Hamilton, to whom she said in a low voice: “I don’t know which is most to be feared, your coolness—or Oscar’s ungovernable temper! But this I have determined, that neither shall stir from this place until a reconciliation has taken place. You, Oscar, are bound to apologise for your unprovoked rudeness, and——”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Raimund. “You are a most excellent mediatrix, my charming cousin, but believe me, explanations are better avoided. See, we have already forgotten the whole affair.”