He had lost his boyish slenderness; his figure had
broadened and filled out sufficiently to add to his presence while
destroying nothing of its symmetry or agile grace, and it was dressed
with the same care. His face was as gay and animated as ever, responded
with the old mobility to every passing thought, but its lines and
contours showed the hard work and severe thought of the last four years.
When he was taking a brief holiday with his friends, or tumbling about
the floor with his little brood, he felt as much a boy as ever, but no
one appreciated more fully than he the terrible responsibility of his
position in the Confederation. His abilities, combined with his
patriotism, had forced him to the head of the Nationalist Party, for
whose existence he was in greatest measure responsible; and he hardly
dared to think of his personal ambitions, nor could he hesitate to
neglect his lucrative practice whenever the crying needs of the country
demanded it. He had also given much time to the creating and
organization of the Bank of New York. But Burr was not far wrong when he
accused him of impatience. His bearing was more imperious, his eye
flashed more intolerantly, than ever. To impute to him monarchical
ambitions was but the fling of a smarting jealousy, but it is quite true
that he felt he knew what was best for the country, and would have liked
to regulate its affairs without further hindrance.

His house, beyond the dip of Wall Street and within sight of the bay,
was of red brick, and as unbeautiful architecturally as other New York
houses which had risen at random from the ruins. But within, it was very
charming. The long drawing-room was furnished with mahogany, and
rose-coloured brocade, with spindle-legged tables and many bibelots sent
by Angelica Church, now living in London. The library was filling with
valuable books, and the panelled whiteness of the dining room glittered
with silver and glass, which in quantity or value was not exceeded in
the home of any young couple in America; the world had outdone itself at
the most interesting wedding of the Revolution. Betsey's sitting room
was behind the drawing-room, and there Hamilton found her counting the
moments until his return. She had lost nothing of her slimness, and
except on dress occasions wore her mass of soft black hair twisted in a
loose knot and unpowdered. She looked younger and prettier than with
powder or wig, and Hamilton begged her to defy the fashio