“Your cousin Joe, then, has not come back yet? And his marriage, is it postponed?” “He has not returned, and the marriage has to be put off indefinitely. Poor dear Patsey! All those pretty gowns waiting for her wedding day, and she does not know when she can wear them! Cousin Joe made one short trip, and then came back to Baltimore. He started out again, but not a word has been heard from him.” “Poor Patsey!” Rhoda looked very thoughtful for a moment; then she jumped up from the stiff chair in which she was sitting. “I’ll write a note, Lettice,” she said. “I don’t doubt we can go to the ball if you so desire it. I have friends at court, even if my father does not uphold the administration. I can write to Mrs. Paul Hamilton, who knew my mother well, and has been most kind to me.” “The wife of the Secretary of the Navy?” “Yes, she has a son in the navy and a daughter here. No fear, Lettice, but that we can go with them, and take Mr. Clinton as our escort.” Lettice shrugged her shoulders, but made no comment, though when it was known that they were to go to the ball, she was in a twitter of excitement, and declared she meant to captivate the highest dignitary there, if she could. “That will not be difficult,” Mr. Clinton murmured, for her ear alone. The girl turned, and gave him a little scornful look. Despite the young man’s efforts at being polite and attentive, he had not met with much encouragement, and never was allowed an opportunity for one of those confidential talks he had found so pleasant during the summer. Into a gay and brilliantly lighted room in Tomlinson’s hotel, on the night of December 8, 1812, Rhoda and Lettice entered. The former looked very fair and elegant in her India muslin, her delicate features and fair skin set off by a scarf of pale blue. Lettice, with her brilliant color, her dancing curls, and pretty figure, looked not less fair in her gown of pink, with her floating scarf of white, skilfully embroidered. They had scarcely come into the ball-room, the walls of which were decorated with the captured flags of the _Alert_ and the _Guerrière_, when there was heard a great cheering and noise of excitement. “What is it?” whispered Lettice, half in alarm. “Nothing to be terrified at, you may be sure,” returned Mr. Clinton, “for every one is smiling and eager. See, Mrs. Madison is talking quite gayly.” Lettice stood on tiptoe the better to see, as into the room trooped a crowd of young gentlemen all escorting a young man who bore aloft a flag. “’Tis young Mr. Hamilton,” cried Rhoda. “See, Captain Hull and Captain Stewart receive the flag. They are taking it to Mrs. Madison. It must be a captured flag.” Lettice watched while, amid resounding cheers, the flag was placed by the side of those taken from the _Alert_ and the _Guerrière_. “It is a fine sight,” she exclaimed. “I am so glad I came!”