“It was not a stupid mistake; it was a very natural conclusion.”
“You mean on account of the rooms, perhaps? Don’t let that annoy you, for you shall have undisturbed possession of both—I dare say I can get a bed at one of the inns at the other side of the river—indeed, I should have proposed it at once, only I did not like to leave you here alone.”
“I am afraid you will think me very selfish,” said Hildegarde.
“Not at all.”
“Unnecessarily prudish, then?”
“Rather.”
“You are right,” she said with a sigh, “after having gone off with you in this—this very—thoughtless manner, any attempt at prudery is preposterous—ridiculous! There is, in fact, nothing to prevent your sleeping in this room, if you do not fear the sofa being too uncomfortable.”
“There is something to prevent me,” said Hamilton, “and that is, you do not wish it. I will go at once across the bridge, and if there be any room to be had, not quite at the other end of the town, I shall not return until morning.”
“But had you not better wait until after supper?”
“It is scarcely advisable, for at this time of the year there are so many travellers, that nothing in the neighbourhood may be to be had; and you know we start early.” While he spoke, however, the waiter appeared with the tray containing their supper, and half blushing, half laughing, they sat down together, and between talking and eating, in the course of a few minutes, forgot all about the matter.