“You look dazzled,” that lady exclaimed, gazing not unkindly into the young girl’s face; “the sudden glare of so much gaslight has bewildered you.”
“I do not think it is that,” returned Paula with a frank and admiring look at the gorgeous room and the circle of pleasant faces about her. “Sudden lights I can bear, but I have come from a little cottage on the hillside and the magnificence of nature does not prepare you for the first sudden view of the splendors of art.”
Mrs. Sylvester smiled and cast a side glance of amusement at Bertram. “You admire our new hangings I see,” remarked she with an indulgence of the other’s naivete that greatly relieved her husband.
But in that instant a change had come across Paula; the simple country maid had assimilated herself with the surroundings, and with a sudden grace and dignity that were unstudied as they were charming, dropped her eyes from her cousin’s portrait—that for some reason seemed to shine with more than its usual insistence—and calmly replied, “I admire all beautiful color; it is my birthright as a Walton, to do so, I suppose.”
Mrs. Sylvester was a Walton also and therefore smiled; but her husband, who had marked with inward distrust, the sudden transformation in Paula, now stepped forward with a word or two of remark concerning his appetite, a prosaic allusion that led to the rapid disappearance of the ladies upstairs and a short but hurried conversation between the two gentlemen.
“I have brought you a sealed envelope from the office,” said Bertram, who, in accordance with his uncle’s advice, had already initiated himself into business by assuming the position of clerk in the office of the wealthy speculator.
“Ah,” returned his uncle hastily opening it. “As I expected, a meeting has been held this day by the board of Directors of the Madison Bank, a vote was cast, my proxy did his duty and I am duly elected President. Bertram, we know what that means,” smiled he, holding out his hand with an affectionate warmth greatly in advance of the emotion displayed by him on a former occasion.
“I hope so indeed,” young Bertram responded. “An increase of fortune and honor for you, though you seem to have both in the fullest measure already, and a start in the new life for me to whom fortune and honor mean happiness.”
A smile younger and more full of hope than any he had seen on his uncle’s face for years, responded to this burst. “Bertram,” said he, “since our conversation of a couple of weeks ago something has occurred which somewhat alters the opinions I then expressed. If you have patience equal to your energy, and a self-control that will not put to shame your unbounded trust in women, I think I can say Godspeed to your serious undertaking, with something like a good heart. Women are not all frivolous and foolish-minded; there are some jewels of simple goodness and faith yet left in the world.”
“Thank God for your conversion,” returned his nephew smiling, “and if this lovely girl whom you have just introduced to me, is the cause of it, then thank God for her also.”
His uncle bowed with a gravity almost solemn, but the ladies returning at this moment, he refrained from further reply. After supper, to which unusual meal Mr. Sylvester insisted upon his nephew remaining, the two gentlemen again drew apart.
“If you have decided upon buying the shares I have mentioned,” said the former, “you had better get your money in a position to handle at once. I shall wish to present you to Mr. Stuyvesant tomorrow, and I should like to be able to mention you as a future stockholder in the bank.”
“Mr. Stuyvesant!” exclaimed Bertram, ignoring the rest of the sentence.
“Yes,” returned his uncle with a smile, “Thaddeus Stuyvesant is the next largest stockholder to myself in the Madison Bank, and his patronage is not an undesirable one.”
“Indeed—I was not aware—excuse me, I should be happy,” stammered the young man. “As for the money, it is all in Governments and is at your command whenever you please.”
“That is good, I’ll notify you when I’m ready for the transfer. And now come,” said he, with a change from his deep business tone to the lighter one of ordinary social converse, “forget for a half hour that you have discarded the name of Mandeville, and give us an aria or a sonata from Mendelssohn before those hands have quite lost their cunning.”
“But the ladies,” inquired the youth glancing towards the drawing-room where Mrs. Sylvester was giving Paula her first lesson in ceramics.
“Ah, it is to see how the charm will act upon my shy country lassie, that I request such a favor.”
“Has she never heard Mendelssohn?”
“Not with your interpretation.”
Without further hesitation the young musician proceeded to the piano, which occupied a position opposite to my lady’s picture in this anomalous room denominated by courtesy the library. In another instant, a chord delicate and ringing, disturbed the silence of the long vista, and one of Mendelssohn’s most exquisite songs trembled in all its delicious harmony through these apartments of sensuous luxury.
Mr. Sylvester had seated himself where he could see the distant figure of Paula, and leaning back in his chair, watched for the first startled response on her part. He was not disappointed. At the first note, he beheld her spirited head turn in a certain wondering surprise, followed presently by her whole quivering form, till he could perceive her face, upon which were the dawnings of a great delight, flush and pale by turns, until the climax of the melody being reached, she came slowly down the room, stretching out her hands like a child, and breathing heavily as if her ecstacy of joy in its impotence to adequately express itself, had caught
