“And what did you suppose were my motives? What did you think of me?”
“I thought, after all your professions of regard for me, you might have waited until you reached England before you began a new—flirtation.”
“Then you were a little—a very little jealous, perhaps?”
“I think not—I hope not,” said Hildegarde, quickly, “for it would be very absurd, most ridiculous. In fact,” she added, frankly, “I did not care how much you devoted yourself to Lina, until I perceived that you wished me to observe it.”
“I did wish you to observe it. I hoped to have elicited some spark of feeling from you in that way, after having failed in all others.”
“And Lina Berger was the person chosen as assistant—as confidant, perhaps?”
“I had nothing to confide. I have never made any secret of my feelings towards you.”
“So you wished to show Lina Berger and everyone else what you supposed were my feelings towards you? It was an ungenerous intention, Mr. Hamilton, all things considered, as any weakness on my part would have merely served to give you a useless triumph; but,” she added, with heightened colour, “I am not offended, not in the least angry with you—or jealous; and for the short time we are likely to be now together, I hope we may be as good friends as we have been for the last few months. The whole affair is really not worth talking about.”
“I hope, however, you do me the justice to believe me perfectly indifferent to Madame Berger?”
“About as indifferent as she is towards you. You flatter each other, and vanity draws you together.”