Lady Sterling arrived with Lady Kitty—­the bride of Colonel William Duer since July—­her undistinguished homeliness enhancing the smart appearance of her daughter, who was one of the beauties of the time.  Lady Kitty had a long oval face, correct haughty little features, and a general air of extreme high breeding.  Her powdered hair was in a tower, and she had the tiniest waist and stood upon the highest heels of all the belles.  She wore white satin over an immense hoop, a flounce of Spanish lace and a rope of pearls.  Kitty Livingston wore yellow which outshone the light of the candles.  Susan Boudinot and the other girls were dressed more simply.  Mr. Boudinot’s eyes were as keen and as kind as ever, his nose seemed longer, and the flesh was accumulating beneath his chin.

The Cochraines and Miss Elizabeth Schuyler were the last to arrive.  The northern belle’s wardrobe had been an object of much concern to the young ladies now cut off from New York shops, and lamenting the demoralized condition of those in Philadelphia.  In Albany all things were still possible.  Miss Schuyler wore a pink brocade of the richest and most delicate quality, and a bertha of Brussels lace.  The pointed bodice and large paniers made her waist look almost as small as Kitty Duer’s, and her feet were the tiniest in the world.  She turned them in and walked with a slight shuffle.  Hamilton had never seen a motion so adorable.  Her hair was rolled out from her face on both sides as well as above, and so thickly powdered that her eyes looked as black as General Washington’s coat, while her cheeks and lips were like red wine on pale amber.  She blushed as Hamilton bowed before her and offered his arm, and then she felt his heart thump.  As for Hamilton, he gave himself up for lost the moment she entered the room, and with the admission, his feelings concentrated with their usual fiery impetuosity.  As it was too soon for an outlet, they rushed to his eyes and camped there, to Miss Schuyler’s combined discomfort and delight.

For once Hamilton was content to listen, and Miss Schuyler was not loath to entertain this handsome young aide, of whom all the world was talking, and who had haunted her dreams for a year.  She had read Milton, Shenstone, and Dodsworth, “The Search after Happiness,” by Hannah More, the works of Madame de Genlis, the “Essay on Man,” and Shakespeare’s lighter plays.  Her learning was not oppressive, merely sufficient to give distinction to her mind, and Hamilton was enchanted once more; but he found her most interesting when relating personal anecdotes of encounters with savage warriors in that dark northern land where she had been born and bred, of hideous massacres of which her neighbours had been the victims, of adventurous journeys she had taken with her father, of painted chieftains they had been forced to entertain.  She talked with great spirit and no waste of words, and it was evident that she was both sensible and heroic.  Hamilton ate little and forgot that he was in a company of twenty people.  He was recalled by an abraded shin.