“I cannot tolerate her want of truth and honour; her, to me, unfathomable cunning. In one word, I despise her.”
“You have been at no pains to conceal it,” observed Hamilton.
“There was no necessity,” said Hildegarde, beginning to fold up her note; “but,” she added, “you must not let my opinion weigh with you; you know I have strong, and often unreasonable, prejudices. At all events, Lina’s faults are not of a description to prevent one from passing a long summer’s day very agreeably in their society.”
“She is certainly an amusing person,” said Hamilton.
“She is clever,” said Hildegarde, gathering up her writing materials to carry into the house; “no one can deny that she has intellect; at school there were few to be compared to her.”
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE EXPERIMENT.
The morning was bright and still cool, though promising a sultry day, as Hamilton prepared to leave the Iron Works. To the astonishment of Madame Rosenberg, it was so early, that she was obliged to wish him good-morning from one of the windows, her nightcap yet on her head. Hildegarde was standing before the horses, giving them lumps of sugar, which they had learned to expect from her, and looking so fresh and beautiful that Hamilton began to grudge the few hours which civility required him to absent himself from her. Kneeling on the seat of the phaeton, he looked up towards Madame Rosenberg, and asked if it would not do just as well if he sent the carriage with Hans?
“Lina Berger will never forgive you,” she answered from the window.
“Dear Crescenz will expect you to breakfast,” said Hildegarde, pushing away the head of one of the horses which had been resting on her arm, “I am sure she has already arranged all her prettiest cups and saucers for you—don’t forget to admire them.”