a position, but worse still that we may know such a one and be ignorant
of his misery and his shame."

"It is getting time for me to dress," murmured Ona, sinking back on her
pillow and speaking in her most languid tone of voice. "Could you not
hasten your story a little Paula?"

But Mr. Sylvester with a hurried glance at the closing eyes of his wife,
requested on the contrary that she would explain herself more
definitely. "Ona will pardon the delay," said he, with a set, strained
politeness that called up the least little quiver of suppressed sarcasm
about the rosy infantile lips that he evidently did not consider it
worth his while to notice.

"But that is all," said Paula. However she repeated as nearly as she
could just what the boy's father had said. At the conclusion Mr.
Sylvester rose.

"What kind of a looking man was he?" said that gentleman as he crossed
to the window.

"Well, as nearly as I can describe, he was tall, dark and seedy, with a
shock of black hair and a pair of black whiskers that floated on the
wind as he walked. He was evidently of the order of decayed gentleman,
and his manner of talking, especially in the profuse use he made of his
arms and hands, was decidedly foreign. Yet his speech was pure and
without accent."

Mr. Sylvester's face as he asked the next question was comparatively
cheerful. "Was the other man with whom he was talking, as dark and
foreign as himself?"

"O no, he was round and jovial, a little too insinuating perhaps, in his
way of speaking to ladies, but otherwise a a well enough appearing man."

Mr. Sylvester bowed and looked at his watch. (Why do gentlemen always
consult their watches even in the face of the clock?) "Ona, you are
right," said he, "it is time you were dressing for dinner." And
concluding with a word or two of sympathy as to the peculiar nature of
Paula's adventures as he called them, he hastened from the room and
proceeded to his little refuge above.

"He has not asked me what became of the child," thought Paula, with a
certain pang of surprise. "I expected him to say, 'Shall we not try and
see the little fellow, Paula?' if only to allow me to explain that the
child's father would not tell me where they lived. But the later affair
has evidently put the child out of his head. And indeed it is only
natural that a business man should be more interested in such a fact as
I have related, than in the sprained arm of a wretched creature's
'little felle