t it was only a simple, 'Follow your own judgment, Mr. Sylvester.' But
how she said it! Do these languid women carry venom in their tongues? I
had always thought she was of too easy a disposition to feel anger or
display it; but the spring of a serpent is all the deadlier for his long
silent basking in the sun. O pardon me for making such a frightful
allusion. But if you had seen her and heard Mr. Sylvester's sigh as he
turned and left the room!"

* * * * *

"Mr. Bertram Sylvester has awakened my deepest interest. His uncle has
told me his story, which alone of all the things I have heard in this
house, I do not feel at liberty to repeat, and it has aroused in me
strange thoughts and very peculiar emotions. He is devoted to some one
we do not know, and the idea surrounds him in my eyes with a sort of
halo that you would perhaps call fanciful, but which I am nevertheless
bound to reverence. He does not know that I am acquainted with his
story. I wish he did and would let me speak the words that rise to my
lips whenever I see him or hear him play."

* * * * *

"There are moments when I long to flee back to Grotewell. It is when
Cousin Ona comes in from shopping with a dozen packages to be opened and
commented upon, or when Mrs. Fitzgerald has been here or some other of
her ultra-fashionable acquaintances. The atmosphere of the house for
hours after either of the above occurrences is too heavy for breathing.
I have to go away and clear my brain by a brisk walk or a look into
Knoedler's or Schaus'."

* * * * *

"The panel where Cousin Ona's picture used to hang, has been filled by
one of Meissonier's most interesting studies; and though I never thought
Mr. Sylvester particularly fond of the French style of art, he seems
very well satisfied with the result. I cannot understand how Cousin Ona
can regard the misfortune to her portrait so calmly. I think it would
break my heart to see a husband look with complacency on any picture, no
matter how exquisite, that took the place of my own, especially if like
her's, it was painted in my bridal days. I sometimes wonder if those
days are as sacred to the memory of husband and wife as I have always
imagined them to be."

* * * * *

"Why does Cousin Ona never speak of Grotewell, and why, if by chance I
mention the name, does she drop her eyes and a shadow