cross the
countenance of Mr. Sylvester?"

* * * * *

"There is a word Mr. Sylvester uses in the most curious way; it is
_fuss_. He calls everything a fuss that while insignificant in size or
character has power either to irritate or please. A fly is a fuss; so is
a dimple in a girl's cheek or a figure that goes wrong in accounts. I
have even heard him call a child, 'That dear little fuss.' Bertram
unconsciously imitates his uncle in this peculiar mannerism and is often
heard alluding to this or that as a _fuss of fusses_. Indeed they say
this use of the word is a peculiarity of the Sylvester family."

* * * * *

"I think from the way Mr. Sylvester spoke yesterday, that he must have
experienced some dreadful trouble in his life. We were walking in the
wards of a hospital--that is, Miss Stuyvesant, Mr. Sylvester and
myself--when some one near us gave utterance to the trite expression, 'O
it will heal, but the scar will always remain.' 'That is a common
saying,' remarked Mr. Sylvester, 'but how true a one no one realizes but
he who carries the scar.'"

* * * * *

"It may be imagination or simply the effect of increased appreciation on
my part, but it does seem as if Miss Stuyvesant grew lovelier and more
companionable each time that I meet her. She makes me think of a temple
in which a holy lamp is burning. Her very silences are eloquent, and yet
she is never _distraite_ but always cheerful and frequently the
brightest of the company. But it is a brightness without glitter, a
gentle lustre that delights you but never astonishes. I meet many sweet
girls in the so-called heartless circles of society, but none like her.
She is my white lily on which a moonbeam rests."

* * * * *

"This house contains a mystery, as Ona is pleased to designate the room
at the top of the house to which Mr. Sylvester withdraws when he desires
to be alone. And indeed it is a sort of Bluebeard's chamber, in that he
keeps it rigidly under lock and key, allowing no one to enter it, not
even his wife. The servants declare that no one but himself has ever
crossed its threshold, but I can scarcely believe that. Ona has not, but
there must surely be some trusty person to whom he allots the care of
its furniture. Am I only proving myself to be a true member of my sex
when I allow that I cannot hinder my own curiosity from h