The Initials. Baroness Jemima Montgomery Tautphoeus
she asked, looking up.
“Merely something about being very unhappy, and so forth.”
“What’s the use of being unhappy?” she asked, peevishly. “Mamma says I must marry some time or other; and such a man as Major Stultz is not to be found every day.”
“I know not which is most to be admired—your astounding resignation or her excellent reasoning.”
She looked at him for a moment, and then having satisfied herself that he was not laughing, said, confidingly—
“Mamma has been very liberal, and promises me everything in fifties and hundreds.”
“Fifties and hundreds!” repeated Hamilton.
“The smalls in hundreds—the large in fifties.”
“You will undoubtedly think me very stupid, but I have not the most remote idea of what you mean.”
“I am to get a trousseau such as mamma herself had; all the smaller things, such as pillow-cases, towels, and stockings, a hundred of each! Table-cloths, and such things, in fifties.”
“Ha! That must naturally have made you think quite differently of Major Stultz!”
Again she looked at him inquiringly.
“No; it did not make me think differently of him. But what can I do?”
“You cannot do better than try to like him as fast as possible.”
“If he had only a von before his name!” she observed sorrowfully.
“Why, what difference would that make?”
“If he were noble, I should not mind the difference of age. My mamma was a countess!” she added, proudly.
“Then, why not wish him to be a count at once?”
“No; that I could not expect, as I have no fortune, and papa is not a von.”
“I should like to know the exact meaning of this von.”
“It is the first grade of nobility; then comes ritter or chevalier; then baron, count, prince, duke. I wonder how mamma could have married any one who was not a count or baron; but then papa was so very handsome, and that makes a great difference!”
“Most undoubtedly! A handsome face is a good letter of recommendation.”
“Are you noble?” she asked, abruptly.
“I have no von before my name,” answered Hamilton, laughing.
“Are you not count or baron?”
“Neither.”
“So you are only Mr. Hameeltone?”
“Only Mr. Alfred Hamilton.”
He perceived that he had fallen deeply in her estimation, and—he fell in his own, a few minutes afterwards, by a fruitless attempt which he made to explain to her the nature of the English peerage, and which he ended by the assurance that had he been born in Germany, where every member of a family inherits the paternal title, he should undoubtedly have been a baron or a count. She did not understand him; and he was glad of it, for he felt keenly the absurdity of his oration, and the silly boast contained in the concluding remark. Where the noblesse is so extensive as in Germany, and where so many members of it are so extremely poor, one would naturally think it would fall in some degree into disrepute, or, at least, that it would be regarded with indifference. This is, however, by no means the case; and there is no doubt that, had her red-faced major been a count or baron, she would have willingly overlooked the other discrepancies. Even a von before his name would have been a consolation, when combined with the happiness of having had a countess for her mother. These were Hamilton’s thoughts during a pause in the conversation, and he partly continued to think aloud, when he asked—
“Was she handsome?”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
“I don’t know—I cannot remember her.”
“Are you—is your sister like her?”
“Hildegarde is very like papa, and people say I am very like Hildegarde.”
“You are extremely like each other, especially at first sight.”
“Oh, I know that Hildegarde is a great deal handsomer than I am!”
This was a fact, and Hamilton was puzzled for an answer, when she added, after a pause—
“But Major Stultz says I am much more lovable than she is!”
“Major Stultz is a man of discrimination,” said Hamilton, looking around him listlessly.
“He says, too, we shall be very happy when we are married!”
“I hope so, most sincerely.”
“He gave me a great deal of good advice the day we were at Chiem See.”
“Indeed! On what subject?”
“He said it was very foolish to trust very young men—that they were very faithless, and good for nothing.”
“All! Did he say all?” cried Hamilton, in a tone of mock deprecation.
“Yes, all,” she answered, petulantly. “He advised me neither to trust them in words nor actions!”
“What extraordinary knowledge of the world he must have! Altogether a remarkable person!”
“You are laughing at me—or—at him.”
“Laughing! What an idea! Only look at me for a moment, and you will be convinced of the contrary.”
And she did look at him, and her eyes filled with tears as they met the calm, unembarrassed gaze of his. A heavy step on the gravel-walk announced the approach of someone, and on turning round they perceived Major Stultz blowing the ashes out of his meerschaum pipe, as he leisurely walked towards a bank in the garden. Crescenz started as if she had been detected committing a crime, and, with heightened colour, rose to join him.
“I thought you said you were at liberty to talk to me as much as you please,” observed Hamilton, ironically.
“And so I am,” she replied, seating herself again, while she glanced furtively towards her future husband. “What have you got to say to me?”
“Oh, a—what were you talking about? Major Stultz’s excellent advice, was it not? I should really like to hear all that he said to you, for I can hardly think he spent his whole time in railing at men who have the good fortune to be a score of years younger than he is.”
“Oh, we spoke of other things also.”
“It would have been very odd if you had not.”
“We—spoke—of love!”
“Very naturally. I really should like to know the opinion of such a man as Major Stultz on so important a subject.”
“He said,” she began with a sigh, “he said that people, especially women, seldom had the good fortune to marry their first love.”
“Rather a trite observation, and, on his part, unnecessary. Surely, if any man may hope to be the object of a first love, it is Major Stultz! You have only left school a few months—are not yet sixteen years old. What could he mean by talking to you about first love?”
She was silent.
“Perhaps it was as a preliminary to his confessions. Did he give you a history of his loves? Have they been very numerous?”
“No,” she exclaimed, almost angrily; “he told me, on the contrary, that I was the first person he had ever wished to marry.”
“Did you remind him of his