“I shall be dreadfully in your debt!” observed Hildegarde, blushing.
“Not at all,” said Hamilton, with the most serious face imaginable. “You have more than enough money for all your expenses here, though perhaps not quite enough to take you home.”
The letter was written, and they sallied forth, preceded by a loquacious valet de place, to whose remarks, after the first five minutes, they did not pay the slightest attention.
When they were returning to the hotel, by a newly-made walk along the banks of the Rhine, Hildegarde stopped to look at a new and beautifully-built steamboat, on which there was a placard hung up to say that she would sail the next morning for Cologne.
“Should you like to see the interior, Hildegarde?”
“Oh, of all things!” and the steamboat was examined with a degree of curiosity, interest, and admiration, of which those accustomed to the sight from infancy can form no idea. The captain of the ship, who happened to be on board, attracted probably by her appearance, had every drawer and cupboard opened for her inspection, and Hamilton was beginning to find his explanations rather long and tiresome, when he suddenly concluded them by hoping that she was to be one of his passengers the next day.
“We have not yet quite decided,” said Hamilton, laughing at her embarrassment; “though I do not,” he added, turning to her, “I do not in fact see what there is to prevent us.”
“We shall have fine weather,” observed the captain, “and shall be in Cologne in good time in the evening.”
“I don’t think we could do better, Hildegarde,” said Hamilton, in a low voice in English.
“I am afraid it would be improper—wrong, without any object but amusement! just consider for a moment.”