The eye that was resting upon her, softened indescribably. “You believe in great hopes,” said he.
The little figure seemed to grow tall; and her face looked almost beautiful. “What would life be without them?” she answered.
“True,” returned Mr. Sylvester; and entering into the conversation with unusual spirit, was astonished to find how young she was and yet how thoroughly bright and self-possessed.
“Lovely girls are cropping up around me in all directions,” thought he; “I shall have to correct my judgment concerning our young ladies of fashion if I encounter many more as sensible and earnest-hearted as this.” And for some reason his brow grew so light and his tone so cheerful that the ladies were attracted from all parts of the room to hear what the demure Miss Stuyvesant could have to say to the grave master of the house, to call forth such smiles of enjoyment upon his usually melancholy countenance.
Take it all together, the occasion though small was one of the pleasantest of the season, and so Mrs. Sylvester announced when the last carriage had driven away, and she and her husband stood in the brilliantly lighted library, surveying a new cabinet of rare and antique workmanship which had been that day installed in the place of honor beneath my lady’s picture.
“I thought you seemed to enjoy it, Ona,” her husband remarked.
“O, it was an occasion of triumph to me,” she murmured. “It is the first time a Stuyvesant has crossed our threshold, mon cher .”
“Ha,” he exclaimed, turning upon her a brisk displeased look. He was proud and considered no man his superior in a social sense. “Do you acknowledge yourself a parvenue that you rejoice at the entrance of any one special person into your doors?”