“Who is that talking with Miss Stuyvesant?” asked Mr. Sylvester, approaching his wife during one of the lulls that will fall at times upon vast assemblies.
Mrs. Sylvester followed the direction of his glance and immediately responded, “O that is Mr. Ensign, one of the best partis of the season. He evidently knows where to pay his court.”
“I inquired because he has just requested me to honor him with a formal introduction to Paula.”
“Indeed! then oblige him by all means; it would be a great match for her. To say nothing of his wealth, he is haut ton, and his red whiskers will not look badly beside Paula’s dark hair.”
Mr. Sylvester frowned, then sighed, but in a few minutes Paula observed him approaching with Mr. Ensign. At once her hitherto pale cheek flushed, but the young gentleman did not seem to object to that, and after the formal introduction which he had sought was over, he exclaimed in his own bright ringing tones,
“The fates have surely forgotten their usual rôle of unpropitiousness. I did not dare hope to meet you here to-night, Miss Fairchild. Was the ride all that your fancy painted?”
“O,” said she, speaking very low and glancing around, “do not allude to it here. We had an adventure shortly after you parted from us.”
“An adventure! and no cavalier at your side! If I could but have known! Was it so serious?” he inquired in a moment, seeing her look grave.
“Ask Miss Stuyvesant;” said she. “I cannot talk about it any more to-night. Besides the music carries off one’s thoughts. It is like a joyous breeze that whirls away the thistle-down whether it will or no.”