“None better this side of the Pacific.”
“Pretty good at spying out cracks, eh?”
“I wouldn’t like to undertake the puttying up that would deceive you.”
“Humph! Well then, mark this. In two months from today you will see Mr. Sylvester rent his house and go south for his health, or the pretty one over there will marry one of the scapegraces you mention, who will lend the man who don’t engage in any further ventures , more than one or two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Ha, you know something.”
“I own mines in Colorado and I have my points.”
“And Mr. Sylvester?”
“Will find them too sharp for him.”
And having 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.