Theo sighed, cuddling the necklace against her cheek. Lately creditors had been even more pressing than usual, but this never seemed to worry her father. When he was here at Richmond Hill he handled them all nonchalantly, promising, placating, and occasionally paying strategic sums on account. But during his frequent absences in Albany, Theo had tried to struggle with the complicated household expenditures herself. It took thousands of dollars to nan the estate, with its famous wine cellar, stables, gardeas, and staff of twenty servants, both white and black. True, Peggy, Alexis, and Tom were slaves, but the others had to be paid their eight dollars a month somehow.

She had tried to curtail the appalling table expenses, but Aaron had checked her. He ate sparingly himself, but his guests—there was never a meal without guests—must be fed lavishly.

Oh, well—they'd manage, as they always did. Besides, there was a great—a glorious probability!

Aaron seldom discussed his political ambitions with Theo—or indeed with anyone—thinking it sufficient that she preside gracefully over his table, amusing and charming without question whatever type of guest he might choose to entertain. 'Politics are not becoming to women,' he told her once. His full, flexible mouth curved into a teasing smile, one black eyebrow shot up. 'Moreover, my dear, you arc too young and tender for all the horrid ins and outs of the game.'

But now she, and many people throughout the sixteen States, knew that, in view of the New York City elections in May, her father's political prominence had increased a hundredfold, and that, with the presidential elections in the fall, Aaron stood a chance of succeeding President Adams.

'First Lady of the Land!' she thought, and her heart beat faster. Half-laughing at herself, she ran to the cherry-wood mirror above her dressing-table, slipping off her long muslin nightrobe. Clad only in her transparent cambric shift, she fastened the diamond necklace about her neck. Its lowest pendant reached almost to the swell of her small high breasts, and enhanced the luster of her skin, white as new milk, the shade Nature often allies to dark auburn hair.

With one hand she piled her loosened braids high on her head, with the other held out the shift. Her eyes black and shining as onyx, mocked her foolishness as she curtsied regally to the small figure in the glass. 'How do you do, my Lady President.'

Her room door was suddenly opened, and Theo turned at a horrified cry behind her. 'Mon Dieu, ma chérie, tu es done folle ce matin!'

Natalie Delage, Theo's adopted sister, stood round-eyed on the threshold, her pert French face scandalized at this posturing before a mirror in a diamond necklace and very little else. Natalie, product of the ancien régime, and a refugee from the French Revolution, was a great stickler for 'les convenances.'