Miss Schuyler wore white, with a twist of black velvet in her powdered hair and another about her throat, and would have been the belle of the party had Hamilton permitted other attentions.  But she gave him all the dances he demanded, and although her bright manner did not lapse toward sentiment for a moment, he went home so elated that he sat scribbling poetry until Laurens pelted him with pillows and extinguished the candle.

The next day there was a sleighing party to Lord Sterling’s, and he drove Miss Schuyler, her aunt, and the wife of General Knox through the white and crystal and blue of a magnificent winter day.  Mrs. Cochraine made no secret of her pride in her niece’s capture of Washington’s celebrated favourite, and assured him of a hearty welcome at her house if he felt disposed to call.  He promptly established the habit of calling every evening.

But although he was seriously and passionately in love, and quite sure that Miss Schuyler loved him in return, he hesitated for the first time in his life before precipitating a desired consummation.  That he had no money did not worry him in the least, for he knew himself capable of earning any amount, and that the Republic, when free, would bristle with opportunities for young men of parts.  But he was in honour bound to tell her of the irregularity of his birth.  And in what manner would she regard a possible husband with whose children she never could discuss their father’s parents?  She was twenty-two, a small woman-of-the-world, not a romantic young miss incapable of reason.  And the Schuylers?  The proudest family in America!  Would they take him on what he had made of himself, on the promise of his future, or would their family pride prove stronger than their common sense?  He had moments of frantic doubt and depression, but fortunately there was no time for protracted periods of lover’s misery.  Washington demanded him constantly for consultation upon the best possible method of putting animation into the Congress and extracting money for the wretched troops.  He frequently accompanied the General, as at Valley Forge, in his visits to the encampment on the mountain, where the emaciated tattered wretches were hutting with all possible speed against the severity of another winter.  The snow was already on the ground, and every prospect of a repetition of the horrors of Valley Forge.  The mere sight of Washington put heart into them, and Hamilton’s lively sallies rarely failed to elicit a smile in return.

It so happened that for a fortnight the correspondence with Congress, the States, the Generals, and the British, in regard to the exchange of prisoners, was so heavy, the consultations with Washington so frequent, that Hamilton saw nothing of Miss Schuyler, and had little time for the indulgence of pangs.  When he emerged, however, his mind was the freer to seek a solution of the problem which had tormented him, and he quickly found it.  He determined to write the truth to