Betty stood in her small chamber at six o’clock that evening, contemplating her gown with critical eye.  Parties in those days were early affairs, and in New York were known to assemble as early as half past seven.  The lanterns which hung outside every seventh house for the purpose of lighting the streets were lit by the watchmen at half past six, for the winter days were short, and the denizens of Wall Street were wont to pick their way most carefully since the great fire, the debris of which in many instances was still left to disfigure the sites where had stood stately mansions.  Betty deliberated for some minutes; here were two gowns:  one must be worn to-night for her dear Clarissa; the other kept for the De Lancey ball, an event over which all fashionable New York was agog, and which would take place on New Year’s night, just one week ahead.

On the high, four-posted bed lay the gowns; one, which had been her mother’s, was a white satin petticoat, over which was worn a slip of India muslin covered with fine embroidery, so daintily worked that it was almost like lace itself.  The dames of Connecticut, and, indeed, of all New England, were much more sober in their dress than those of New York, where the Dutch love of color still lingered, and the Tories clung to the powdered heads and gay fashions of the English court circles.  The other gown (which in her secret soul Betty longed to wear) had been given her by Gulian, who was the most generous of men, and who admired his pretty sister-in-law far more than he would have told her.  A ship had recently arrived from England bringing him a box of gowns and gewgaws ordered long since for his wife, and of these Gulian had made Clarissa happy by bidding her bestow on Betty a gown such as he considered fitting for a grand festivity like the De Lanceys’ New Year ball.

“Alack!” sighed the pretty maid to herself, as she contemplated the white satin, “I will not even raise the paper which contains Clarissa’s present, for both she and Gulian have set their hearts upon my wearing it on New Year’s day, so ’t is useless to fill my breast with discontent when I have so good a gown as this to wear to-night.  The skirt is a little frayed—­oh! how vexing!” and Betty flew to her reticule for needle and thread to set a timely stitch; “now that will not show when the muslin slip goes over.”  Another anxious moment, and with a sigh of relief Betty slipped on the short waist with its puffed sleeves and essayed to pin the fichu daintily around her neck.  Then she dived down to the very depths of a chest of drawers, whence she produced a small box, and out of this came a single string of pearls,—­the pearls which her mother had worn upon her wedding-day, and Pamela had pressed into her hand at parting.  Next, Betty with cautious steps, candle in hand, approached the mirror, which graced the farther end of her tiny chamber, and holding it at arm’s length surveyed herself as far as she could see, which was not below her dainty waist, as suited the dimensions of the mirror aforesaid.