It was Leonard, also, who hung behind the dais on which Mayor Clinton, Decatur, Hall, and the officers of the navy were to sit, the mainsail of a ship thirty-three feet by sixteen, on which the American eagle was painted, holding in his beak a scroll bearing these significant words: “Our children are the property of our country.” There were many other transparencies to attend to; besides which, every table was to bear a miniature warship with American colours displayed. And to the five hundred gentlemen of New York, who sat down to the dinner served in that room, these were no childish symbols. They were the palpable, visible signs of a patriotism that meant freedom or death, and nothing less. In the midst of all the business connected with such preparations, in a time when the things wanted were not always procurable, and had to be supplied by the things that could be obtained, Leonard--whose heart was hot in his work of patriotism--was naturally very busy and very much occupied with the work on hand. Yet he found time sufficient to see Sappha often enough to convince her he had not fallen away from the promise he had made her--“to harbour no unworthy suspicions of any one who loved him.” At length New Year’s Eve arrived. More than three hundred of New York’s loveliest women had been for weeks preparing for it, and all were eager for the pleasure it promised them. The Bloommaert party, consisting of the judge, Mrs. Bloommaert, Sappha, and Annette, were early arrivals; and Leonard, who was one of the directors, met them at the door. And he looked so noble, and so handsome, and his manner was so fine and gracious, that even Judge Bloommaert was impressed by his personality, and returned his greeting with unusual warmth. But then, as Leonard reflected, any man who failed in politeness, or even in cordiality, in the presence of three such lovely women as Sappha, Annette, and Mrs. Bloommaert, would surely be something less than human. Mrs. Bloommaert’s beauty was yet in its ripe perfection. She was as the full blown rose that has not yet dropped a single leaf. She wore a gown of white satin covered with a netting of gold thread; and there was a string of pearls round her throat, and a large comb in form the braids and bows of her glossy black hair. She carried in her hand a little fan of exquisite workmanship, and used it with a grace that no woman in the room, old or young, could imitate.