Her eye turned towards Mr. Sylvester standing near them upright and firm, talking to a group of attentive gentlemen every one of whom boasted a name of more than local celebrity. “Without a royal heart to govern, there would be no palace;” said she, and blushed under a sudden sense of the possible interpretation he might give to her words, till the rose in her hand looked pallid. But he had followed her glance and understood her better than she thought. “And Mr. Sylvester has such a heart, so a hundred good fellows have told me. You are fortunate to see the city from the loop-hole of such a home as his.” “It is more than a loop-hole,” said she. “Of that I shall never be satisfied till I see it?” And being content with the look he received, he took her on his arm and led her into the midst of the dancers. Meanwhile in a certain corner not far off, two gentlemen were talking. “Sylvester shows off well to-night.” “He always does. With such a figure as that, a man needs but to enter a room to make himself felt. But then he’s a good talker too. Ever heard him speak?” “No.” “Fine voice, true snap, right ring. Great favorite at elections. The fact is, Sylvester is a remarkable man.” “Hum, ha, so I should judge.” “And so fortunate! He has never been known to run foul in a great operation. Put your money in his hand and whew!—your fortune is as good as made.” The other, a rich man, connected heavily with the mining business in Colorado, smiled with that bland overflow of the whole countenance which is sometimes seen in large men of great self-importance. “It’s a pity he’s gone out of Wall Street,” continued his companion. “The younger fry feel now something like a flock of sheep that has lost its bell-wether.” “They straggle—eh?” returned his portly friend with an increase of his smile that was not altogether pleasant. “So Sylvester has left Wall Street?” “He closed his last enterprise two weeks before accepting the Presidency of the Madison Bank. Stuyvesant is down on speculation, and well—It looks better you know; the Madison Bank is an old institution, and Sylvester is ambitious. There’ll be no reckless handling of funds _there_.” “No!” What was there in that _no_ that made the other look up? “I’m not acquainted with Sylvester myself. Has he much family?” “A wife—there she is, that handsome woman talking with Ditman,—and a daughter, niece or somebody who just now is setting all our young scapegraces by the ears. You can see her if you just crane your neck a little.” “Humph, ha, very pretty, very pretty. How much do you suppose Mrs. Sylvester is worth as she stands, diamonds you know, and all that?” “Well I should say some where near ten thousand; that sprig in her hair cost a clean five.” “So, so. They live in a handsome house I suppose?” “A regular palace, corner of Fifth Avenue and ——” “All his?” “Nobody’s else I reckon.” “Sports horses and carriage I suppose?” “Of course.” “Yacht, opera box?”