The new Park Theater was to reopen that year on September fifth after the summer recess. It was to be a gala night, and all that part of New York society which did not think play-acting immoral would be there. Aaron had reserved a good center box for twelve shillings, and invited the Comte de Joliette to squire Natalie and complete their little party. The box would not be comfortable with more than five occupants.

It was a delicious afternoon, warm and yet with a sparkle in the air which hinted of approaching autumn. They dined early so as not to be hurried in driving to the town. The curtains would rise at seven.

Theodosia had dressed in bird-of-paradise yellow, a color which accentuated the auburn in her hair, upon which perched a distracting little evening hat of straw and willow-green satin. She wore a set of seed pearls; ring, necklace, brooch, and even buckles on the green kid slippers were all fashioned of seed pearls shaped like tiny cornucopias. She had inherited these jewels from her mother, and their subdued luster became her better than Aaron's flashing diamonds. This she would not admit, however, and would have worn the gaudier ornament except that she did not wish to attract attention from the rowdy clement in the gallery and pit.

Natalie, neatly fashionable in a brocaded gown of the new color called cachou-nut brown, followed Theo into the Italian chaise. The three men settled themselves on the seat opposite to the girls.

Aaron, who was as fond of fine materials as a woman, wore his best suit, a gray silk woven at Lyons, and brightened by an embroidered waistcoat. He had directed Joseph to New York's best tailor, so that the planter seemed better groomed and less bulky than usual. Aaron and Joseph were simply dressed as became Republicans, with no frills except the ruffled jabots beneath their chins, but the Count had remained true to powdered hair, frothing lace, and the splendor of paste buttons and shoe buckles.

The coachman slammed the painted doors and they set off at six. Theo hated to be shut in, and would have preferred to gallop to town on Minerva. Yet when they came to the Lispenard Meadows and clouds of mosquitoes rose from the marshy pools, she was glad enough for the protection of the coach.

'These marshes are unhealthy,' said Joseph, languidly slapping at his leg. 'We have the same trouble at home. Swamplands produce tainted air. You had a plague of fever here last year, did you not?'

Aaron nodded. 'We did. People turned yellow as Theo's dress, and died in droves. Still, we arc safe at Richmond Hill; the air is pure there. I hope, by the by, that you will not keep Theo shut up on the plantation during the fever months until her constitution becomes accustomed to your Southern miasmas.'