“I have no sort of objection to his shirt-sleeves,” said Hamilton, “provided he allow me to wear a coat. What matter! If this be the reason why I should not go with Hildegarde and the children the day after to-morrow, I think you may waive all ceremony and tell your father that I belong to the family. You have made an agreement to keep me for six months longer.”
“This is a good idea,” said Madame Rosenberg, laughing. “I will write to him to-morrow, and I dare say I shall have an answer in a day or two.”
Hamilton perceived he had gained every concession he could reasonably demand, and left the room quietly and thoughtfully.
Hildegarde had prepared her brothers for their afternoon walk, and was waiting with some indications of impatience for his appearance. He had been forbidden to walk with her, but had established a sort of right to be informed where she intended to go—that he should ride near her, or at least become visible during her walk, was a sort of tacit agreement.
“The Nymphenburg road,” cried Gustle, springing towards him. “May I have one of your canes?”
“And may I, too, have one to ride upon?” asked Peppy.
“Yes,” said Hamilton, “Hildegarde will show you those you may take.”
“Oh, come, Hildegarde,” cried Gustle, pulling her rather roughly; “come and choose the canes for us. I must have the little black one with the horse’s head on it.”
But Hildegarde showed no inclination to move.
“You were a long time in my mother’s room,” she said at length, with some embarrassment.