the eldest, had married her cousin and had four Beekman boys.
Two others were married. Dolly had graduated from Rutgers the year
before and was now nineteen. Annette, as the old Dutch name was spelled,
was not quite seventeen. Margaret had been put in her class in most
branches.

Steve _did_ want the Beekmans to think well of his people. He and Dolly
were not declared lovers, but they understood each other. Old Peter
made inquiries about the young man, and if they had not been
satisfactory Stephen would soon have known it. So he felt quite assured.
And though his mother talked of her sons marrying, he knew that just at
first it would come a little hard to find she had a rival.

"Well, Peggy," he said, Friday evening of the first week, "how does
school go? Seen any girls you like?"

"I've seen two that know you," and Margaret laughed. "Mary Barclay said
you had been at their house. And so did Annie Beekman."

"Yes, I was at Miss Beekman's party; quite a fine affair. And I've been
there to play whist. They're a jolly crowd. Next winter we must have a
few parties. And I'm going to get a piano."

"Oh, you lovely Steve!" She squeezed his arm rapturously.

"You have a very pretty voice, Peggy. Annie Beekman's sister sings
beautifully. How do you like Annie?"

"Why, you never can tell whether she is in earnest or quizzing you. But
she's ever so much prettier than Mary. Yes, on the whole I like her."

"You ought to see her sister Dolly. She has real flaxen hair and such a
complexion!"

"Annie has a lovely complexion, too. There are a great many pretty
girls in the world. I have a curious sort of pity for those who are not
a bit pretty," Margaret said sympathetically.

Steve laughed and nodded, as if the idea amused him.

If Margaret and Annie became friends, and if Dolly and Annie came to
call--well, he was sure they would all fall in love with Dolly. And then
the matter would go on smoothly. People thought more of being friendly
with their relations by marriage in those days.

CHAPTER IV

A LOOK AT OLD NEW YORK

On a Sunday toward the end of April, Stephen took his two sisters down
to the Battery for a walk. It was very warm and springlike. The
cherry-tree in their yard had come out in bloom. Buds were swelling
everywhere, and the gray spots were all green and shining in the soft
golden atmosphere. There was the wide, magnificent expanse of the bay,
the edge of Brooklyn, the hazy outline of Staten Isla