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?”