Theo laughed, snatching up a brocaded dressing-gown. 'I'm not mad, Natalie, but it's June, and my birthday, and see what Papa has given me. Isn't he the best and most generous of men?'

The French girl examined the necklace. 'Exquisite,' she agreed. 'A magnificent present. You will look ravishing at your party tonight.'

Theo began brushing her finespun web of hair. 'I hope so. I shall wear the white India muslin with gold embroidery that Papa likes so much; it will set off his gift. I do hope he will be pleased.'

Natalie made a tiny, impatient noise. She leaned against the wall watching the girl with exasperated affection. But she was a child yet—Theodosia!—in everything but her mind and intellectual attainments. These were formidable enough. Miss Burr was celebrated from Albany to Philadelphia for her accomplishments.

But her emotions, thought Natalie—by which she meant flirtation, love-making, the exciting business of eliciting pursuit—were still totally immature. Even her body, for all its petite femininity, was not fully developed according to the French taste. It lacked a lushness of curve, the hips were too narrow. Still, Theo in the last year had grown extremely pretty, with a vivacious sparkle that immediately attracted. Lately there had been several suitors, but there was something strange about the girl's attitude. She scarcely seemed aware of her conquests.

Natalie sighed, settling down on the horsehair sofa. 'Listen, chérie, I must talk with you seriously. You are seventeen now, and a woman. It is not natural to think always, "Will Papa be pleased?" There should be someone younger than Papa to make your eyes shine like that. Your father is a wonderful, fascinating man, bien entendu, but you are no longer a little girl. You are beautiful and witty, you speak three languages, you play the harp, the pianoforte, you write letters and essays like a Montaigne, and all for what? So your father will be pleased! C'est inouï.'

Theo laid down her brush and shook her head ruefully; she had heard all this before. 'When I meet another man really worth pleasing, I shall do so'. She smiled her quick, lovely smile. 'Natalie, please ! Don't preach today, and don't look so somber. I have time yet to think of marriage—if, indeed, marry I must.'

'Ciel!' cried Natalie, shocked. 'Of course you must marry. Imagine remaining always a virgin, without position, without being rangée, simply the daughter of your father! You are heedless, ma chère, and you have no mother to tell you these things, so I must.'

Theo looked at her affectionately. Good Natalie. For all her scant twenty years she was as anxiously maternal as a broody hen. She never forgot the generosity which the Burr family had shown her when Aaron had opened his home to a penniless little émigrée, five years ago.