Paula Makes Her Choice
“Good fortune then, To make me bless’t or cursed’st among men.”
It was evening in the Sylvester mansion. Mr. Sylvester who, according to his understanding with Paula, had been absent from his home all day, had just come in and now stood in his library waiting for the coming footfall that should decide whether the future held for him any promise of joy.
He had never looked more worthy of a woman’s regard than he did that night. A matter that had been troubling him for some time had just been satisfactorily disposed of, and not a shadow, so far as he knew, lay upon his business outlook. This naturally brightened his cheek and lent a light to his eye. Then, hope is no mean beautifier, and this he possessed notwithstanding the disparity of years between himself and Paula. It was not, however, of sufficiently assured a nature to prevent him from starting at every sound from above, and flushing with quite a disagreeable sense of betrayal when the door opened and Bertram entered the room, instead of the gentle and exquisite being he had expected.
“Uncle, I am so full of happiness, I had to stop and bestow a portion of it upon you. Do you think anyone could mistake the nature of Miss Stuyvesant’s feelings, who saw her last night?”
“Hardly,” was the smiling reply. “At all events I have not felt like wasting much but pleasant sympathy upon you. Your pathway to happiness looks secure, my boy.”