On the morning after the assembly Barclugh awoke as though from a
dream. After leaving the French Minister’s mansion he went to his
bachelor’s quarters on Front Street and sat in his chair trying to
dispel the pictures of Mollie Greydon. Reason as he might--that she was
a mere girl and he a man of the world, and he ought not to allow his
fancy to dwell upon affairs of his heart when he had sterner duties to
perform--still the image of that being who had awakened a new life for
him clung to his brain and he could not forget it. It gave him no rest.
But the morning of the following Thursday when he was to see her again,
he bounded out of bed and felt as though he could not wait for the hour
to arrive. To take the carriage to Dorminghurst was his overpowering
desire.
The old Colonial mansion of Dorminghurst had been the scene of many
brilliant receptions; but this one, when Mollie felt that her fate was
to be settled, seemed of far-reaching influence. The servants arranged
the china and the tea-urn on a round mahogany table in the center of
the drawing-room. Tables and chairs arranged for groups of ladies and
gentlemen to sit around and sup their tea and gossip, were placed in
the corners of the large room. Mollie was taking a last look at her
gown when she heard the first carriage rattle along the roadway and
came down the grand staircase to take her place with her parents.
The Greydons held a position of unquestionable influence in the upper
society of Philadelphia. James Greydon, Mollie’s grandfather, had been
Secretary of William Penn, the founder; then deputy Governor, then
executor of Penn’s vast landed estate. Consequently, the Greydons were
lordly proprietors, for the thrifty grandfather had bought his lands
from the Indians. Thus a card for a reception at Dorminghurst became
almost a command.
On this serene afternoon in May the broad avenue of hemlocks seemed
more beautiful than ever. The liveried equipages of the FitzMaurices,
the Millings, the Redmans, the Binghams, the Adamses, the Chews, the
Carrolls, the Pinckneys, the Shippens, the Peterses, the Arnolds came
rolling up to the pillared entrance and gay guests alighted, passed
hurriedly to the _boudoirs_ and came down to greet Dr. and Mrs.
Greydon, and not the least,--Miss Mollie.
That young lady was in an anxious mood. She greeted each arrival in a
very sweet and cordial manner, but she cast constant glances out into
the arched hallway to see if Roderick Barclugh were among the latest
arrivals. She eagerly scanned every face and at last saw him come with
James Wilson, the lawyer.
Mollie watched him ascend the curved staircase on one side and return
with the line of guests on the other. He was fashionably dressed in
his powdered wig and queue and his shining buckles and lace frills. No
gentlemen present bore a more distinguished appearance than Roderick
Barclugh. She watched him shake the hand of her father and her mother,
and, when her turn came, she offered her hand with delight in her eyes
as she said:
“I am so glad that you remembered my special invitation.”
There was a slight flush in her cheeks, and she knew that Barclugh
approved of her gown and her hair by the satisfied glances that his
eyes made. He looked into her eyes as he said softly:
“This is a great pleasure, to see you again.”
Roderick Barclugh bowed profoundly and passed among the guests. He was
in the midst of a group who were gossiping about the Arnolds.
“What do you think, Mr. Barclugh,” asked Anne Milling, approaching
Barclugh in her most bewitching manner, “the court-martial of General
Arnold has found him guilty of misconduct in his office as Commander of
Philadelphia and General Washington has been ordered to make a public
reprimand. The dear, brave General! He has been made to endure more
than he can stand. Don’t you think so, Mr. Barclugh?”
“General Arnold surely is brave, but has he not been extravagant?” was
Barclugh’s reply in a tone indicating his aversion to the subject.
“I have little sympathy with him as he has become very imperious and
overbearing of late, since he married Peggy Shippen. He did not have
the fortune or the position in society to marry such an ambitious girl
as Margaret; she needed a baronet,” volunteered Mrs. FitzMaurice, who
had the faculty of speaking her mind.
“It is a question which one has the most ambition, Mrs. Arnold or the
General, since they have moved into their new country home, ‘Mount
Pleasant’ on the Schuylkill. Have you attended any of their gorgeous
entertainments? No wonder his ambition runs away with him. They both
love luxury and they need money,” chimed in Sally Redman, who loved to
have people realize that she knew a few things about the gay world.
“Let me whisper something. It must never be repeated. The French
Minister refused General Arnold a loan. I have it from very direct
sources,” volunteered Charles Bingham.
“Did he go to the French Minister himself?” queried Barclugh.
“Yes,” replied Bingham, and the whole group laughed heartily.
“Hush! Here they come now,” whispered Anne Milling as she gave Mr.
Bingham a touch on his arm.
The General and his wife came up arm in arm, all smiles when the group
just referring to them turned and greeted the Commander of Philadelphia
and his wife most cordially:
“Why, how do you do, General? How do you do, Peggy, my dear? I am so
glad to see you,” said Mrs. FitzMaurice in her sweetest tones and with
a smile for both of them.
Mrs. Arnold at once addressed herself to Roderick Barclugh and the
General to M. de la Luzerne, who had just joined the group.
“I hope that we may see you out to ‘Mount Pleasant’ very soon, Mr.
Barclugh. My sister, Bessie, is now visiting me and it would give us
the greatest pleasure to see you. Tuesdays are our days. Then, I must
tell you”--in her most pleasing tones--“the General has taken a very
great interest in you of late.”
“I thank you, Madam; it will be not your pleasure alone, but mine.”
In times of war very little of the drawing-room satisfied the men of
affairs; so, when the ladies and the macaronis were fairly aglow with
gossip over the tea-cups, John Adams, Dr. Greydon and Charles Thompson
found themselves together in the doctor’s office and began to discuss
serious affairs over their pipes and mugs of home ale.
“By thunder! That trading house of Milling and FitzMaurice brought
home a fat prize, William,” remarked Charles Thompson. “One of their
privateers secured a British ship worth eighty thousand pounds
sterling.”
“Is it possible? No wonder they can live in luxury. They are growing
fat out of the war. That one prize would pay back one half that they
have loaned to Congress,” continued John Adams.
“I always was opposed to war on general principles,” argued Dr.
Greydon, “but if we must fight, all right. Yet, when private
individuals can go out on the high seas and take other private
individuals’ substance it seems like licensed robbery.”
“I venture to say riches thus gained will never profit the gainer.
Robert FitzMaurice has made fabulous riches out of his piratical
enterprise but he will lose it all, some day,” reasoned the Secretary
of Congress.
“Heigho there!” exclaimed John Adams, “do you know that FitzMaurice and
Milling are now planning to start a bank and to do all the financing
for Congress? They want a charter.”
“That’s fine,” began Dr. Greydon. “First, Congress grants letters of
Marque and Reprisal to these enterprising merchants, in order for
them to hold up their neighbors’ ships and rob them; now, when they
grow rich out of the war, we will license them to hold our hands when
they can go into _our_ pockets and rob _us_. Oh! That’s a fine scheme
to throttle our war. They could tell us then to lay down our arms if
the bank was not pleased. Never let us get into the clutches of these
financiers. The power of the purse must always belong to Congress, the
representatives of the people.”
Thus spoke Dr. Greydon, and then Charles Thompson added:
“The money of our Congress maybe depreciated, but if the people of our
country accept it, which the patriots do--maybe the Tories do not--we
will prosper; but if we give ourselves into the hands of the bank, they
would take nothing but specie for payment and we would be paralyzed. We
could do nothing but surrender.”
“Here! Here! William, we are forgetting our ladies,” said John Adams,
and they arose and joined the guests in the drawing-room.
Mollie was helping her mother serve the tea; the guests were seated at
the tables; but she did not lose sight of Barclugh. Although the large
drawing-room and the library were thronged with guests, she could not
let him out of her sight. Members of Congress, generals, their sons and
daughters, and French diplomats thronged the rooms but they soon began
to depart.
At the first opportunity Barclugh left his tea-cup and found his way to
the side of Mollie. She turned and said spiritedly:
“You must miss your gay society in Paris, Mr. Barclugh? They must be
so different from our society? I would be delighted to travel abroad
again; I was so young when papa took me to England.”
“Society is very much the same the world over,” answered Barclugh,--“so
insincere.”
“Are all people insincere, Mr. Barclugh?” returned Mollie.
“By no means. There is one whom I know to be sincere.”
“But, do you really, Mr. Barclugh, enjoy your sojourn in America?”
insisted Mollie.
“I would leave to-morrow if it were not for the _tete-a-tetes_ that I
have with one whom I meet too seldom.”
[Illustration: Mollie Greydon.]
“That is exasperating, Mr. Barclugh. Who can it be? Is it Mrs. Arnold?”
sallied Mollie.
“Oh! no! no! She is too imperious. Can you not guess?” and Barclugh
looked so appealingly into Mollie’s eyes that her pulse seemed to cease.
She grew pale and could scarcely venture a reply.
“I would not dare to guess,” she said softly, “for fear that I might be
mistaken.”
The Secretary of Congress, Charles Thompson, came up to Mollie at this
juncture to bid her good-bye and she was drawn into the duties of
bidding the guests farewell; Roderick Barclugh left Dorminghurst that
afternoon, determined to win the heart of Mollie Greydon; but little
did he know what stirring events would intervene before he could offer
himself to the one he loved.