you see her."

"Thank you," replied he, his mind roaming off at the suggestion, into
the region of a certain plain little music-room where the clock on the
mantel ticked to the beating of his own heart. And for ten minutes Mrs.
Sylvester had the pleasure of filling the room with a stream of easy
talk, in which Grotewell, dark beauties, the coming Seventh Regiment
reception, the last bit of gossip from London, and the exact situation
of the Madison Bank formed the principal topics.

To the one last mentioned, it having taken the form of a question, he
was forced to reply; but the simple locality having been learned, she
rambled easily on, this time indulging him with a criticism upon the
personal appearance of certain business gentlemen who visited the house,
ending with the somewhat startling declaration:

"If Edward were not the fine appearing gentleman that he undoubtedly is,
I should feel utterly out of place in these handsome parlors. Anything
but to see an elegant and modern home, decorated with the costliest
works of art, and filled with _bijouterie_ of the most exquisite
delicacy, presided over by a plain and common-place woman or a
bald-headed and inferior-looking man. The contrast is too vivid; works
of the highest art do not need such a startling comparison to bring out
their beauty. Now if Edward stood in the throne-room of a palace, he
would somehow make it seem to others as a handsome set off to his own
face and figure."

This was all very wife-like if somewhat unnecessary, and Bertram could
have listened to it with pleasure, if she had not cast the frequent and
side-long glances at the mirror, which sufficiently betrayed the fact
that she included herself in this complacent conclusion; as indeed she
may have considered herself justified in doing, husband and wife being
undoubtedly of one flesh. As it was, he maintained an immovable
countenance, though he admired his uncle as much as she did, and the
conversation gradually languished till the white somnolent lids of the
lady again began to show certain premonitory signs of drooping, when
suddenly they were both aroused by the well known click of a latch-key
in the door, and in another moment Mr. Sylvester's voice was heard in
the hall, saying, in tones whose cheery accents made his wife's eyes
open in surprise--

"Welcome home, my dear."

"They have come," murmured Mrs. Sylvester rising with a look of
undeniable expectation. Had Paula not been a beau