er get your money in a position to handle at once.
I shall wish to present you to Mr. Stuyvesant to-morrow, 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 an expression from pain.

"O Mr. Sylvester!" was all she said as she reached that gentleman's
side; but Bertram Mandeville r