“Am I, then, so very disagreeable?” asked Hamilton.
“Quite the contrary—but you do not understand my father. In short, it is better to tell you at once—why should I be ashamed to say it? He was a common journeyman smith—so extremely industrious, of such enormous strength, and with so much talent for mechanics, that he made himself not only useful, but altogether indispensable to my grandfather, who, rather than lose him, gave him his daughter in marriage. Our forge became in time an iron work, and he is now the richest man far and wide. To see him, you would not suppose so; he is neither changed in manner nor dress——” Madame Rosenberg paused.
“Well?” said Hamilton.
“Well!” she repeated, a little impatiently. “It is plain enough, I think, that such a man will not suit you—or you suit him.”
“I don’t know that,” said Hamilton. “A man who has turned a forge into an iron work, and who from having nothing has become rich by honest means, must be possessed of good sense and good talents, too. As to his appearance or dress—a man’s coat——”
“That’s just what I am afraid of,” cried Madame Rosenberg.
“Do you think I attach much importance to a coat? I assure you that I am determined to like your father with and without a coat.”
“I will write him that, and it will at once put an end to our difficulties, for if I say that he will never imagine you are so fastidious——”
“I don’t quite understand——” said Hamilton with a puzzled air.
“It would never do—you see—were we to inconvenience him,” said Madame Rosenberg, “or force him to change his mode of life. He likes to work and dine in his shirt-sleeves, and is not over particular how his meals are served—this I can change, perhaps, but against the shirt-sleeves I can do nothing, and I know it is very vulgar; Franz told me so often enough.”