Hamilton laughed.  “If I accumulate any more parents,” he said, “I shall share the fate of the cat.  This morning Colonel Harrison—­one of my fathers—­almost undressed me to see if my flannels were thick enough, Mrs. Washington gave me a fearful scolding because I went out without a muffler, and even the General is always darting edged glances at the soles of my boots.  Yesterday, Laurens, who is two-thirds English, tried to force an umbrella into my hand, but at that I rebelled.  If I marry, it will be for the pleasure of taking care of someone else.”

He escorted Miss Livingston out to the highroad, and returned to Headquarters, his imagination dancing.  He had by no means forgotten Miss Schuyler.  That merry roguish high-bred face had shone above many dark horizons, illuminated many bitter winter nights at Valley Forge.  He was excited at the prospect of seeing her again, and hastened to arrange a dinner, to which she must be bidden.  The young men did as they chose about entertaining, sure of Washington’s approval.

“Ah, I know Miss Schuyler well,” exclaimed Tilghman, when Hamilton remarked that they should immediately show some attention to the daughter of so illustrious a man as General Schuyler.  “I’ve fetched and carried for her—­in fact I once had the honour to be despatched by her mamma to buy her a pair of stays.  I fell at her little feet immediately.  She has the most lively dark good-natured eyes I ever saw—­Good God, Hamilton, are you going to run me through?”

Hamilton for the moment was so convulsed with jealous rage that his very fingers curved, and he controlled them from his friend’s throat with an effort.  Tilghman’s words brought him to his senses, and he laughed heartily.  “I was as jealous as Othello, if you’ll have the truth, and just why, I vow I don’t know, for I met this young lady only once, and that a year ago.  I was much attracted, but it’s not possible I’m in love with her.”

“It’s love, my dear boy,” said Tilghman, gravely.  “Go and ask Steuben if I am not right.  Laurens and I will arrange the dinner.  You attend to your case immediately.”

Hamilton, much concerned, repaired to the house of Baron Steuben.  This old courtier and rake was physician in ordinary to all the young men in their numerous cardiacal complications.  Hamilton found him in his little study, smoking a huge meerschaum.  His weather-beaten face grinned with delight at the appearance of his favourite, but he shook his head solemnly at the revelation.

“I fear this time you are shot, my dear little Hamilton,” he said, with much concern.  “Have you told me all?”

“All that I can think of.”  Hamilton was sitting forward on the edge of the chair in considerable dejection.  He had not expected this intrication, had hoped the Baron would puff it away.

“Has she a neat waist?”

Hamilton admitted, with some surprise, that her waist was exceptional.