“Yacht, opera box?”
“No reason why he shouldn’t.”
“What is his salary?”
“A nominal sum, five or ten thousand perhaps.”
“Owns good share of the bank’s stock I presume?”
“Enough to control it.”
“Below par though?”
“A trifle, going up, however.”
“And don’t speculate?”
The way this man drawled his words was excessively disagreeable.
“Not that anyone knows of. He’s made his fortune and now asks only to enjoy it.”
The man from the West strutted back and looked at his companion knowingly. “What do you think of my judgment, Stadler?”
“None better this side of the Pacific.”
“Pretty good at spying out cracks, eh?”
“I wouldn’t like to undertake the puttying up that would deceive you.”
“Humph! Well then, mark this. In two months from today you will see Mr. Sylvester rent his house and go south for his health, or the pretty one over there will marry one of the scapegraces you mention, who will lend the man who don’t engage in any further ventures, more than one or two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Ha, you know something.”
“I own mines in Colorado and I have my points.”
“And Mr. Sylvester?”
“Will find them too sharp for him.”
And having made his joke, he yielded to the other’s apparent restlessness, and they sauntered off.
They did not observe a pale, demure, little lady that sat near them abstractedly nodding her dainty head to the remarks of a pale-whiskered youth at her side, nor notice the emotion with which she suddenly rose at their departure and dismissed her chattering companion on some impromptu errand. It was only one of the ordinary group of dancers, a pretty, plainly dressed girl, but her name was Stuyvesant.
Rising with a decision that gave a very attractive color to her cheeks, she hastily looked around. A trio of young gentlemen started towards her but she gave them no encouragement; her eye had detected Mr. Sylvester’s tall figure a few feet off and it was to him she desired to speak. But at her first movement in his direction, her glance encountered another face, and like a stream that melts into a rushing torrent, her purpose seemed to vanish, leaving her quivering with a new emotion of so vivid a character she involuntarily looked about her for a refuge.
But in another instant her eyes had again sought the countenance that had so moved her, and finding it bent upon her own, faltered a little and unconsciously allowed the lilies she was carrying to drop from her hand. Before she realized her loss, the face before her had vanished, and with it something of her hesitation and alarm.
With a hasty action she drew near Mr. Sylvester. “Will you lend me your arm for a minute?” she asked, with her usual appealing look rendered doubly forcible by the experience of a moment before.
“Miss Stuyvesant! I am happy to see you.”
Never had his face looked more cheerful she thought, never had his smile struck her more pleasantly.
“A little talk with a little girl will not hinder you too much, will it?” she queried, glancing at the group of gentlemen that had shrunk back at her approach.
“Do you call that hindrance which relieves one from listening to quotations of bank stock at an evening reception?”
She shook her head with a confused movement, and led him up before a stand of flowering exotics.
“I want to tell you something,” she said eagerly but with a marked timidity also, the tall form beside her looked so imposing for all its encouraging bend. “I beg your pardon if I am doing wrong, but papa regards you with such esteem and—Mr. Sylvester do you know a man by the name of Stadler?”
Astonished at such a question from lips so young and dainty, he turned and surveyed her for a moment with quick surprise. Something in her aspect struck him. He answered at once and without circumlocution. “Yes, if you refer to that spry keen-faced man, just entering the supper-room.”
“Do you know his companion?” she proceeded; “the portly, highly pompous-looking gentleman with the gold eyeglasses? Look quickly.”
“No.” There was an uneasiness in his tone however that struck her painfully.
“He is a stranger in town; has not the honor of your acquaintance he says, but from the questions he asked, I judge he has a great interest in your affairs. He spoke of being connected with mines in Colorado. I was sitting behind a curtain and overheard what was said.”
Mr. Sylvester turned pale and regarded her attentively. “Might I be so bold,” he inquired after a moment, “as to ask you what that was?”
“Yes, sir, certainly, but it is even harder for me to repeat than it was for me to hear. He inquired about your domestic concerns, your home and your income,” she murmured blushing; “and then said, in what I thought was a somewhat exulting tone, that in two months or so we should see you go South for your health or—Is not that enough for me to tell you, Mr. Sylvester?”
He gave her a short stare, opened his lips as if to speak, then turned abruptly aside and began picking mechanically at the blossoms before him.
“I, of course, do not know what men mean when they talk of possessing points. But the leer and side glance which accompanies such talk, have a universal language we all understand, and I felt that I must warn you of that man’s malice if only because papa regards you so highly.”
He shrank as if touched on a sore place, but bowed and answered the wistful appeal of her glance with a shadow of his usual smile, then he turned, and looking towards the door through which the two men had disappeared, made a movement as if he would follow. But remembering himself, escorted her to a seat, saying as he did so:
“You are very kind, Miss Stuyvesant; please say nothing of this to Paula.”
She bowed and a flitting smile crossed her upturned countenance. “I am not much of a gossip, Mr. Sylvester, or I should have been tempted to have carried my information to my father instead of to
