“I was just waiting for you, Betty; you girls take such a long time to put on your capes and furbelows.  I’ll warrant Kitty will detain us when we stop for her, and we must hasten, for the sun will not stay up much longer.  Just let me find my muffler and my skates,” and off tore Peter, while Betty tucked up her gown preparatory to an afternoon on the Collect Pond, whose frozen surface was the resort of all fashionable New York, both those who joined the skaters, and others who watched them from the surrounding banks, making a gay, bright winter scene for the spectators as well as the participants.

It was some three weeks since Betty’s eventful journey, and as the strangeness of her new home and surroundings wore off she was beginning to enjoy herself.  First of all, the dear happiness of being once more with Clarissa, who had brightened and strengthened each day since her arrival; then Grandma Effingham’s storehouse of anecdotes and pleasant stories, to which Betty listened with delight and the respectful deference that youth of those days paid to age; and last (though Betty would have denied it stoutly) the frequent visits to the Verplancks of a certain tall soldier, whose red coat made her eyes sparkle with disdain, even while her heart beat quicker at sound of his voice.  Truly, Betty’s soul was torn within her, and for every smile that Yorke succeeded in winning he was sure to receive such dainty snubs, such mischievous flouting following swiftly after, that he almost despaired of ever carrying the outworks, much less the citadel of the willful maid’s heart.

Kitty Cruger had received Betty most cordially, but the acquaintance had not yet progressed toward intimacy.  On several occasions when Betty had been especially teasing, Yorke had seen fit to retaliate by seeking Kitty’s side, and, although he was far from suspecting it, he had thus piqued his little lady-love extremely.  For Kitty was a reigning belle, and the toast of the British officers as she had been of the Continentals, and she liked Yorke and Yorke’s attentions.  If Betty had only known whose face came oftenest in Kitty’s dreams, and that a blue sword-knot was her most cherished possession, perhaps the dawning jealousy which she felt toward her would never have existed.  Who can say?

The winter had set in with great rigor, and the troops had even crossed on the ice from Staten Island to the city; sad tales reached Betty’s watchful ears of privations endured in the army of General Washington, and it made her cheeks burn and tingle to hear the jests and laughter of the Tory guests who visited the house, at the expense of the so-called “rebels” against King George.  Of Oliver, Betty had no sign; whether he had been in the city and accomplished whatever mission he had in view, she knew not.  She did not dare to confide in Clarissa, for even had her sister’s health permitted, Betty deemed it scarcely safe to put her to the test of loyalty as between husband and brother.