“So Hildegarde is to leave you also?”
“Yes. I was at first very unwilling, and, indeed, should not have consented were I still in Munich; but, you see, here she is never likely to marry, and after her sister has made such an excellent match, she would not be satisfied with our Förster, Mr. Weidmann, I am afraid.”
“I should think not,” said Hamilton.
“Now, as she is certainly remarkably handsome,” continued Madame Rosenberg, “and within the last year greatly improved, too, I should not at all wonder if, at Frankfort or Florence, she were to pick up someone——”
“Not at all unlikely,” observed Hamilton.
“Or if old Count Zedwitz were to die, perhaps his son might again——”
Hamilton began to stride up and down the room with unequivocal signs of irritation.
“I see all this is uninteresting to you,” said Madame Rosenberg, placing her hands on her knees to assist her in rising from her low, unsteady seat. “How can I expect you to care who she marries, or where she goes, or, indeed, what becomes of any of us now? In a few weeks you will have forgotten us altogether!”
“How little you know me!” cried Hamilton, taking her hand as she was passing him; “I shall never forget you, or the happy days passed in your house, and am so sincerely attached to you and all your family, that nothing will give me greater pleasure than hearing of or from you. I shall leave you my address in London, and hope that you, and your father, and the children, will often write to me. When Fritz comes home for the holidays I shall expect a long letter, not written from a copy, and in his best handwriting, but unrestrained, and telling me everything about you all.”
“Well, I really believe you do like us,” cried Madame Rosenberg, the tears starting to her eyes; “but, after all, not as well as we like you; and now, I think I had better leave you, or else I shall make an old fool of myself.”