ing made his joke, he yielded to the other's apparent
restlessness, and they sauntered off.

They did not observe a pale, demure, little lady that sat near them
abstractedly nodding her dainty head to the remarks of a pale-whiskered
youth at her side, nor notice the emotion with which she suddenly rose
at their departure and dismissed her chattering companion on some
impromptu errand. It was only one of the ordinary group of dancers, a
pretty, plainly dressed girl, but her name was Stuyvesant.

Rising with a decision that gave a very attractive color to her cheeks,
she hastily looked around. A trio of young gentlemen started towards her
but she gave them no encouragement; her eye had detected Mr. Sylvester's
tall figure a few feet off and it was to him she desired to speak. But
at her first movement in his direction, her glance encountered another
face, and like a stream that melts into a rushing torrent, her purpose
seemed to vanish, leaving her quivering with a new emotion of so vivid a
character she involuntarily looked about her for a refuge.

But in another instant her eyes had again sought the countenance that
had so moved her, and finding it bent upon her own, faltered a little
and unconsciously allowed the lilies she was carrying to drop from her
hand. Before she realized her loss, the face before her had vanished,
and with it something of her hesitation and alarm.

With a hasty action she drew near Mr. Sylvester. "Will you lend me your
arm for a minute?" she asked, with her usual appealing look rendered
doubly forcible by the experience of a moment before.

"Miss Stuyvesant! I am happy to see you."

Never had his face looked more cheerful she thought, never had his smile
struck her more pleasantly.

"A little talk with a little girl will not hinder you too much, will
it?" she queried, glancing at the group of gentlemen that had shrunk
back at her approach.

"Do you call that hindrance which relieves one from listening to
quotations of bank stock at an evening reception?"

She shook her head with a confused movement, and led him up before a
stand of flowering exotics.

"I want to tell you something," she said eagerly but with a marked
timidity also, the tall form beside her looked so imposing for all its
encouraging bend. "I beg your pardon if I am doing wrong, but papa
regards you with such esteem and--Mr. Sylvester do you know a man by the
name of Stadler?"

Astonished at such a question from lips