Hamilton did not answer. The fact was, at the commencement of their acquaintance he had considered both Hildegarde and her sister so infinitely beneath him in rank that he had almost immediately called them by their Christian names.
“I suppose,” she continued, “if I know you well enough to call you Alfred, I may venture to say——”
“You may venture to say anything you please.”
“Well, then—Alfred—I think the sooner you leave us—leave the Iron Works—the better.”
“Do you?” he said, with a tolerably successful effort to appear unconcerned. “I suppose what I said yesterday, when I was vexed, has made you come to this conclusion.”
“Yes; and though I cannot perceive that you have exactly been making a fool of yourself, I think it very evident that you have been losing your time here.”
“I wish I could lose the remainder of my life in the same way. I have been immeasurably happy lately.”
“You said your cousin would exaggerate—would insinuate——”
“Did you understand what I meant when I said that?” cried Hamilton, quickly.
“I believe I did; and I half wished you had allowed him to come here, and see that he was mistaken; he would soon have perceived that your friends have no cause for anxiety—that friendship alone exists between us.”