se times were
conducted with even more pomp and ceremony than in our day, and the
entertainments, though not upon the present scale, were fully as lavish.
Wax candles shone at every possible point, and lit up the broad
reception-hall, the polished floors and high ceilings, while mirrors on
mantels and walls reflected back many times the stately figures which
passed and repassed before them. And then there came a pause, when
voices were hushed, and down the oak staircase came Kitty, led by Gulian
Verplanck (her nearest male relative), wearing a white satin petticoat
(though somewhat scanty to our ideas in width and length), and over it
a, train of silver brocade, stiff and rustling, while a long scarf of
Mechlin lace covered her pretty dark head and hung in soft folds down
her back. The high-heeled slippers, the long lace mitts, with their
white bows at the elbow, completed her toilet. She stood before the
assembled company a fair young bride of the olden days, and behind her
came Miss Moppet and Peter Provoost, holding her silver train with the
tips of their fingers. Oliver, in full Continental uniform, his cocked
hat under his arm, awaited her at the end of the great drawing-room, and
with somewhat shortened service, the rector of old St. Paul's said the
words which made the pair man and wife.

[Illustration: "I HOPE THESE ARE WEDLOCK SHOES"]

Betty was standing near the mantel, laughing and chatting gayly with
several of her former New York gallants, when she beheld her father
advancing toward her on the arm of a gentleman. Surely she knew that
tall, elegant figure, that erect, graceful carriage? But the scarlet
uniform which was so familiar was absent; this was the satin coat,
small-clothes, and powdered hair of a civilian. Betty's head swam, her
brilliant color came and went, as her father said quietly!--

"My daughter, an old acquaintance desires that I should recall him to
your recollection; I trust it is not necessary for me to present to your
favor my friend, Mr. Geoffrey Yorke."

Betty's knees shook as she executed her most elaborate courtesy, and as
if in a dream she heard General Wolcott say to Yorke, with a somewhat
quizzical smile, "Perhaps you will kindly take Betty to the library,
where I will myself join you later after escorting General Washington to
the banquet."

Betty never knew how she crossed that room; every effort of her mind was
concentrated in the thought that she must not betray herself.