“Perfectly.”
“And you think, perhaps, I ought not to go?”
“I think—indeed I am sure, that I can give you no advice on the subject. I am too much interested in your decision, to be a ‘righteous judge.’”
“How are you interested?”
“Simply thus; if you do not go, the whole party is spoiled for me.”
Hildegarde was silent for more than a minute. She did not disclaim; she knew he had spoken his thoughts. “If,” she said at length, “if I had only known it in time to have asked my father’s leave, I really do think he would have had no objection.”
“If you think that, you may decide on going with a clear conscience.”
“Is this your opinion—advice?”
“I give no advice,” said Hamilton, laughing, “I only wish you to go.”
“Then—I—will go,” said Hildegarde, thoughtfully; “go—notwithstanding a kind of misgiving which I cannot overcome, a sort of a warning—a presentiment——”