surprise, was forced to acknowledge to himself, that as closely as he had studied his wife’s nature for ten years, there were certain crooks and turns in it which even he had never penetrated.
“You look dazzled,” that lady exclaimed, gazing not unkindly into the young girl’s face; “the sudden glare of so much gaslight has bewildered you.”
“I do not think it is that,” returned Paula with a frank and admiring look at the gorgeous room and the circle of pleasant faces about her. “Sudden lights I can bear, but I have come from a little cottage on the hillside and the magnificence of nature does not prepare you for the first sudden view of the splendors of art.”
Mrs. Sylvester smiled and cast a side glance of amusement at Bertram. “You admire our new hangings I see,” remarked she with an indulgence of the other’s naivete that greatly relieved her husband.
But in that instant a change had come across Paula; the simple country maid had assimilated herself with the surroundings, and with a sudden grace and dignity that were unstudied as they were charming, dropped her eyes from her cousin’s portrait—that for some reason seemed to shine with more than its usual insistence—and calmly replied, “I admire all beautiful color; it is my birthright as a Walton, to do so, I suppose.”
Mrs. Sylvester was a Walton also and therefore smiled; but her husband, who had marked with inward distrust, the sudden transformation in Paula, now stepped forward with a word or two of remark concerning his appetite, a prosaic allusion that led to the rapid disappearance of the ladies upstairs and a short but hurried conversation between the two gentlemen.
“I have brought you a sealed envelope from the office,” said Bertram, who, in accordance with his uncle’s advice, had already initiated himself