No one spoke. Aaron relaxed. 'Come, gentlemen,' he cried, with perfect good-humor, 'another bumper all around. Brom Martling, see to it for me. I must go now. I bid you all good day.'

As the heavy oak door swung to behind him, Garson grumbled, 'How did I know he would be so touchy?'

'Tis the only subject on which he's touchy,' said young Van Ness, with swift loyalty. 'Usually he has the temper of an angel.'

'He's fair daft about that girl of his,' went on Garson, still smarting. 'It seems scarcely natural.'

'Oh, he's natural enough,' snorted Matthew Davis. 'He's a great dog with the ladies. Ten to one, he's gone off now to visit that blue-eyed wench he's keeping on South Street. The lucky beggar—she has one of the trimmest ankles I've ever seen. Though I remember once, when I was in Albany, walking down State Street, the door of one of the houses opened, and I said to myself..'. He meandered on through one of his interminable stories, but this time the Colonel had gone, and nobody listened.

CHAPTER THREE

AARON had not gone to South Street, however, nor even thought of it. Little Sally Martin, with her dovelike compliance and devoted eyes of a water spaniel, was useful only as an occasional physical necessity. Brothels offended his fastidiousness, and lately he had not had the time to undertake the complicated and protracted pursuit expected by ladies of fashion. Sally was merely a stopgap. Inexpensive and cozy as a cup of tea—and equally unintoxicating.

Aaron's mind, this morning, was concerned with far more interesting matters. He guided Selim up Broadway at a walk. The stallion's shoes rang on the cobblestones, raising little puffs of malodorous dust, detouring a yapping dog-fight and piles of garbage where pigs rooted, grunting happily. Aaron drew him aside at the sound of a musical horn, to let the Boston Mail go by. He was pleased to see the lumbering coach. It meant letters and newspapers from New England, more news of the political situation.

He turned west on Chambers Street, then north on the Greenwich Road, spurring Selim to a canter now that the cobblestones were left behind. Two miles brought him near Greenwich Village. He passed a handful of wooden houses without seeing them, turning thankfully through the iron gates of Richmond Hill.

The stable-boy rushed up at the sound of hoofs. Aaron mechanically threw him the reins, peering over his head for the small figure that usually came flying down the steps to greet him.

'Has Miss Burr gone out, Dick?'

The man muttered. He wanted his dinner and could not leave until Minerva was back and properly rubbed down. 'Been gone since eight, sir, on the gray mare, and yesterday she was gone all morning, and the day before...'

'Thank you, that will do'. Aaron's quiet voice struck him like a brick.