31 Bond Street Part 7

"Europe!" she said. Paris and London, along with a mansion on Fifth Avenue were dazzling prospects, but she still had not received a proper marriage proposal. She had waited these past several months to force his hand and decided that perhaps it was only awkwardness that prevented him from following the social conventions. There was very little time left. "I suppose I could settle into Bond Street," she said. "You have made the case that it is a tidy solution."

"It is decided!" he said brightly, getting up suddenly. She followed him toward the door, where he gave her a strong embrace and then departed. As soon as he was gone, she got her coat so she could rush to the bank and send a telegraph to Saratoga that Helen would be coming back to school in January, at the turn of the year.

Emma had nearly finished arranging her new bedroom on the third floor, placing her crystal and perfume across the vanity and lace on the arms of the chairs. She hung pictures of landscapes and cottages on the rose-patterned wallpaper, using large velvet ribbons that tied in bows and hung from the ceiling molding. She had taken advantage of Dr. Burdell's absence to wander the house, deciding how she might rearrange the furniture and improve the housekeeping. The piano in the back parlor needed oil and a tuning. She asked John, the errand boy, to push it over to an alcove near the bay window, making the room look more like a conservatory. Dr. Burdell's patients used the second parlor as a waiting room, but her daughters could practice music when the patients were gone. With some concentrated effort, she would make the double parlor more elegant, suitable for social receptions and teas.

She roamed upstairs and downstairs, checking all the rooms, which had nooks and cabinets positioned in odd places. There were closets everywhere, with large keyholes and bra.s.s k.n.o.bs with layers of tarnish, many locked. Alice, the chambermaid, carried keys around on a big ring while she was cleaning. Emma decided to borrow the stack of keys to look inside the closets to see which keys worked and which ones no longer had any use. She found Alice in Dr. Burdell's office, listlessly waving a feather duster along a bookshelf.

"Are you making sure to get the dust on the lower shelf?" asked Emma, coming in from the hall.

"Yea," said the girl, looking up. Alice was a rangy girl whose hair hung in stringy clumps.

"Alice, it's 'yes,' not yea. Please say 'Yes, Ma'am.' And, Alice, I would prefer that you wear a maid's cap when you work. Please tie your hair and pin it under a cap." Alice looked at her sullenly, as if she were speaking a strange language, and Emma worried that such training would be lost on her. Emma walked over and picked up the iron ring that lay next to the cleaning basket that Alice carried from room to room. "I will take these for a while," Emma said.

"You can't do that, Ma'am. I got to lock the doctor's chambers when my dusting's done," said Alice, alarmed. "The doctor don't want anyone in his rooms when he is gone."

Emma started out of the room with the ring of keys. "I shall take care of it. I will lock up, later," she said. "And, Alice, I hope you have not been drinking liquor. I don't abide by that." Alice placed a hand up to her mouth, alarmed, which told Emma that her suspicion was correct, that Alice's slovenly manner had much to do with an indulgence in spirits.

Emma tested the doors around the house and found that the keys were an odd set. Some keys slid easily into a cabinet or closet and the bolts worked smoothly, whereas others were a difficult fit, or the catches were rusty. A few of the doors remained stubbornly locked. The closets were mostly empty with some forgotten items like old china packed in straw, or a rolled-up rug. She returned to the doctor's office, and Alice had gone. The maid's absence gave her time to look about-the dental office, a large room converted from a bedroom, had a high ceiling and was furnished like a salon, with engravings and a velvet fringed sofa. By the window was the steel dentist chair where Dr. Burdell conducted his surgery. Next to the fireplace was a mahogany desk with ledgers and cubbyholes for papers, and next to it, a steel safe. On top of the fireplace mantel were two human jaws, preserved under gla.s.s.

A long wardrobe pa.s.sage connected the office to Dr. Burdell's bedroom. Emma pa.s.sed through the pa.s.sageway, which was lined with drawers and cupboards. She opened the door to a wardrobe and saw a line of identical dark black suits of expensive wool and tailoring, evenly placed upon their hangers. Starched linen s.h.i.+rts and high cardboard collars were stacked on shelves and a velvet tray was filled with pairs of cuff links.

Laid out before a mirror were ointments, tonics, powders, dentifrices, and tooth wash. She picked up a silver brush, and marveled at the placement of domestic things. She ran his brush against her cheek. The silver was cool, and the bristles the finest, and she pictured these same possessions, along with hers, lined up together years from now.

She entered his bedroom, which was dimly lit, for the shutters were closed. The room was furnished as a sumptuous sanctuary with vermilion velvet curtains and nickel-plated gas burners. A fur throw covered the bed, and on the doctor's bedside table were crystal gla.s.ses and a seltzer bottle with a silver top. She crept back though the pa.s.sage to the office and locked the door carefully behind her. If she had not come to Bond Street with his offer, in a short time her money would have run out. She would have been put out of her house, her possessions in crates, forced to live on credit in a hotel, slowly selling off her jewels. It would not be long before she was on the street, for she had no source of income. There was no work for a lady besides working in a shop, or sewing, and a day's pay for handiwork could barely buy a day's meals. How close she had come.

When Emma returned to the kitchen, Hannah was speaking with John. Hannah stopped midsentence, as she always did when Emma entered, giving the impression that whatever she was uttering, it was something she preferred Emma not to hear.

"Hannah, I would like to have you prepare a plate of crumpets as a refreshment for Dr. Burdell's patients who come to the house in the morning."

Hannah raised her eyebrows. Her tone was equally arch. "Crumpets in the parlor, Ma'am?"

"Yes, please. I think that would be a gracious touch."

"You want me to bake up a fresh batch of crumpets, every day, midmorning?"

"Well, on certain days. I will ask Doctor Burdell which mornings his patients visit."

"Who will serve and pa.s.s these crumpets round to the people waiting in the parlor?"

"No one need pa.s.s them. They could be placed on an attractive tray, and the guests can serve themselves between their appointments. We could also have a pitcher of cold drink, or a pot of tea."

Hannah shrugged, clearly skeptical, as she stirred the batter in the bowl. "The patients come to get their teeth fixed, not eat sugar crumpets," she muttered, low.

"Did you say something?" asked Emma.

"Ma'am, I was just thinking how the one's with toothaches will have a hard time chewing, that's all."

"That is not your concern, Hannah. You are a cook, not a dentist." The cook had been difficult from the start. Emma planned to ask Dr. Burdell to speak to the servants when he returned about the standards she wished to bring to the household. Just because he had been too preoccupied to notice the housekeeping in the past did not mean that the servants should not work harder to make improvements. They needed to understand that her orders were his as well.

That night, Dr. Burdell returned. It was late, and Emma was in her nightclothes, brus.h.i.+ng out her hair when the carriage came clattering up the street and stopped before the house. She had hoped that he would come home earlier in the evening and had planned to greet him in her most fetching dress. It was past eleven o'clock and the firelight flickered in her grate when she heard him enter the house. The deep carpets on the stairs absorbed his footsteps as he ascended to the second floor, and she heard the faint click as his key unlocked his bedroom door. Brus.h.i.+ng her hair some extra strokes so that it flowed down her back, she put on a silk and lace dressing coat over her thin nightgown. She stepped into the dark hallway. Hannah had turned off the gas jets on her way to bed, so Emma took a candle to guide her way downstairs. On the second floor, Emma saw light from the crack under Doctor Burdell's bedroom door. She tapped softly and heard his key turn from the inside. He pulled open the door and bid her to enter his bedroom.

"I am so glad you are home," said Emma, warmly. "I hope you had a successful trip. I would like to go over the housekeeping schedules with you in the morning."

"Speak to the servants about the housekeeping," he said brusquely, turning away from her. Dr. Burdell had begun undressing before she had knocked and had removed his coat and vest and was in his s.h.i.+rtsleeves.

"Would you like me to wake Hannah to prepare you a supper?"

"No, I am not hungry."

"Then I shall see you in the morning," she said, hesitating, turning to go.

"Stay," he said, his back still toward her. He went over to his washbasin and leaned down to a low cabinet. Inside was a bra.s.s latch, which, when pulled, sprung open a rectangular panel, revealing a recessed cubby. He reached inside and retrieved an apothecary jar that was filled with white powder and spooned some into a gla.s.s, then added some liquid from the seltzer bottle. "Laudanum and quinine," he said, stirring the liquid with a spoon, and handing her the tonic. "Drink it up."

She sat at the edge of his bed and sipped the fizzy drink. The bed was covered in fur, and the canopy was draped in dark red velvet. Everything in the room seemed padded and plush. Dr. Burdell removed his cuff links and s.h.i.+rt studs and placed them on the bureau. He removed his sash and s.h.i.+rt collar and walked toward her, the white linen of his s.h.i.+rt loosely flapping. He took the gla.s.s from her, and put it on his night table, then he pulled her to him. He unlashed her dressing coat and lifted it off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. He lifted the thin film of her nightgown, exposing her, and then dropped her down onto the bed. He fell on the bed with her. He was as savage as the first night, but they no longer were in the wild countryside, but encased in a townhouse in the hard heart of the city.

Again, he seemed intoxicated, devouring. She felt herself falling into a dark hole that was lined with the smooth pelt of fur and the slippery satin sheets. As they tumbled around, her eyes would flicker open, registering her surroundings: the anthracite sputtering in the fireplace, the wallpaper with a regal pattern veining up to the high ceiling where plaster ornament knotted into hard clumps in the corner; the musk scent in his whiskers. He whispered as he moved, his voice guttural and sharp. When he was finished, he fell asleep quickly. She arranged herself comfortably inside the sheets. She tossed about, but he never stirred, and then she too fell into a deep slumber.

The room was still dark when she opened her eyes in the morning, with a trace of grey light dawning through the window slats. He had shaken her shoulder and he was sitting up on one elbow, watching her. Their clothes were strewn across the floor from the night before, as if dropped from a whirlwind.

"Leave, now, before the servants wake," he said. There were no niceties attached to his tone. She sat, alert now, sensing that he was concerned about the looming business of his day. She reached for her nightgown and pulled it over her head as her skin rippled with goose p.r.i.c.ks from the chill of the cold morning air.

"There is a bell that rings in your room from this pull," Dr. Burdell said, reaching for a brocade strip that hung sinuously along the canopy frame, attached to wires that were behind the velvet curtain. "It rings a tiny bell next to your bed. Never come to my room at night, unless I ring for you."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

December 1856 The month of November pa.s.sed. Housekeeping, preparing the menus, and tending to Augusta and Helen took up most of Emma's day. 31 Bond Street was a little less dull for the efforts of her management, with new polish on all the silver, and the bra.s.s fixtures unclogged so that the crystal globes and lamps shone brighter. Each improvement only exposed another layer that needed attention. Emma had Samuel roll up the rugs and put new wax on top of the parquet. She hoped that by the time the holiday season approached, the house would be suitable for entertaining. Because moving the sullen Alice from room to room was a slow progression, the s.h.i.+mmering house that Emma envisioned was always a project away.

Soon enough, December was upon them, which meant the streets were filled with sleighs, fur m.u.f.flers, and horses covered in monogrammed blankets. Dr. Burdell conducted his day as if he were on a separate clock. In the morning, patients rang the doorbell, and John led them upstairs, where the office door would close for a half an hour, then John would retrieve buckets of b.l.o.o.d.y towels and dump them in the attic on the pile of was.h.i.+ng. In the afternoon, after the dental appointments, Dr. Burdell would dash off to a bank, or out in his carriage, taking care of other business. He ate his breakfast on a tray alone in his bedroom, and his lunch and supper at the men's dining room at the Metropolitan Hotel on Broadway. Some days she never encountered him at all. Other times, she saw him at night, when he would pull the bell, and he would use few words as he bid her to join him in his bed.

One afternoon, Emma was on the stair as Dr. Burdell pa.s.sed, in a mad dash for the front door. He stopped, suddenly, and said, "Emma, Thursday, next, I have an engagement. I would like you to join me at the opera. A business a.s.sociate shall join us. His name is Ambrose Wicken."

"Thursday, the opera? How delightful!"

"Please have Augusta come. The curtain is at nine." Emma was elated at the prospect of an evening on the town.

"Thursday is Verdi I believe. We'd be delighted to meet Mr. Wicken."

"I'll send word to his hotel and arrange the carriage," Dr. Burdell said as he hurried out the door.

On the morning of the opera, Mr. Wicken appeared at the house in the early afternoon to present his calling card and properly introduce himself to Emma. He had the most exquisite manners-he formally asked her permission to be Augusta's escort for the evening. He was a das.h.i.+ng figure in his late twenties, a Southerner, with corn-colored hair. She told him that her daughter was eighteen, and she would be delighted to have her accompany him. Emma had always pictured that the man Augusta would marry would be an outsider-a risk taker, an adventurer, a man without a New York pedigree, someone who would sweep her away and marry her for love. Ambrose Wicken was such a man, and his timing was perfect.

That evening, Emma and Augusta began the ritual of dressing in Emma's bedroom after an early supper. Emma sat on the stool before her vanity, deciding which necklace to wear with her dress. She pulled a leather case from her drawer and lifted her ruby necklace from its velvet pouch, fastening the cold jewels along her throat. Augusta pulled the strings of her mother's corset, tightening the laces of the whalebone stays, arching the rib cage upward.

Augusta sat on the edge of the bed and rolled pearl-colored stockings up her legs. Emma lifted a velvet gown off the bed and balanced it over Augusta's head. When her daughter emerged from the piles of fabric, Emma readjusted her daughter's curls and spread the fabric around her hoops. She fastened the tiny b.u.t.tons at Augusta's back, her fingers working like spiders up the length of Augusta's spine.

"Keep your back straight and smile at Mr. Wicken when you curtsy. He seems like a distinguished and das.h.i.+ng prospect for you."

"Mother, you see possibility in every man that walks along the street."

"You are eighteen and there is no time to waste." They heard the doorbell ring and Alice's raspy voice as she greeted the visitor. The moon glowed, reflecting against the marble of the mantel. Alice came upstairs and tapped on the bedroom door. "Mrs. Cunningham, the man is waiting and the carriage is outside," she hissed. "He says the curtain goes up at nine."

"Please serve him a sherry, Alice, and ask him to sit," said Emma. Alice plodded back down the stairs. Emma turned to Augusta, who was rustling before her, anxious and radiantly pale, in her tea-colored gown. Emma stepped into her own dress, a ruby velvet that matched her necklace, and then patted the knot in her hair. She appraised Augusta. "Let me twist some more," she said, grabbing one of Augusta's coiled curls. Augusta stood, resigned to the anxious fingers in her hair.

Emma grabbed a fur. "We are done!" she said triumphantly, as if they had performed a difficult musical score. The two women descended the staircase. In the parlor, in evening dress, Ambrose Wicken was more handsome than he had appeared in daytime. Augusta stepped toward him, and then faltered, her tiny heel catching in the pile of the carpet.

"Ladies!" exclaimed Mr. Wicken, taking Augusta's hand, lingering, and then bending to kiss it. "I have the singular pleasure of escorting you to the opera." He spoke in a southern cadence that sounded exotic in the overfurnished parlor. "Dr. Burdell has left word at my hotel that he will be late. He has been detained on a business matter and will meet us at the opera house. So, my two arms shall be graced with an abundance of beauty."

"Mr. Wicken, it is our honor, isn't it Augusta?" When Augusta did not reply, Emma curtsied, aware of the effect of her low cut dress.

"Madame, you could not be more than a year older than your lovely daughter," said Wicken. "How radiant you two appear side by side."

"Oh, sir," said Emma smiling, dismissing the compliment. She had heard it often and was aware enough of its truth. A more matronly woman would stumble and blush at the comment, only reinforcing the insincerity of the remark.

"We should be off," Mr. Wicken said, bowing, "before the curtain rises."

When they arrived at the opera, the orchestra was tuning. They were led to a box in the loggia, where a card reserved seats in the name of Dr. Burdell. From her seat, Emma pulled out her opera gla.s.ses and scanned the scene. The aisles below were a circulation of taffetas and magnificent diamonds, swirling beneath an enormous gas chandelier, which slowly dimmed. A bra.s.s-b.u.t.toned porter appeared from behind the velvet curtain of their box, and Mr. Wicken ordered Champagne. "There is nothing like a fine wine to lubricate the ear," he whispered intently to Augusta, but she responded with an awkward "Yes, thank you, sir," and fixed her eyes out into the audience with an uncomfortable stare.

The curtain rose and the performers came onto the stage, launching into a throaty score that resonated up to the highest tiers. Mr. Wicken whispered intermittently into Emma's ear about the tenor or the libretto, reflecting a fine knowledge of Italian opera. Dr. Burdell's chair remained empty. He had missed the curtain. Emma fanned herself furiously. She could not imagine what had detained him, when he had a box full of guests and she had dressed in her finest gown.

At intermission, Dr. Burdell still had not arrived. Emma fidgeted anxiously. All the opera gla.s.ses in the theatre came out at once and seemed to be pointing around the opera house with their opaque circles. She was proud of her appearance in the gilt box, with the handsome man between them, but was self-conscious about the empty chair. Emma made conversation with Mr. Wicken. "Dr. Burdell so enjoys Verdi, I am surprised he missed the first act," she said. "I do apologize. It is unlike him to be late."

"I do wonder how he could put such beauty on display without arriving to claim his prize," said Mr. Wicken, with a disapproving tone. "I have the good fortune to be doing business with him and I have learned that he is a man with many keen interests. I suppose at times they are in conflict." He poured Champagne from the bucket, filling Augusta's fluted gla.s.s.

Emma attempted to divert his attentions to Augusta. Leaning toward Wicken, she said softly, "I am glad that tonight my daughter has a companion of such refined manners. My concern is that her virtue and her dowry be placed in the hands of the worthiest of gentlemen."

"She is but a half-opened bloom to your rose. Seeing you together shows where her fine cultivation will lead," he said in a low tone. He turned, now addressing Augusta, who was seated on his other side. "I imagine Miss Augusta has many interests, besides a pa.s.sion for Champagne." Augusta looked up and nodded, lifting her gla.s.s to her lips.

"I do enjoy music," she said, coolly.

"She plays the piano magnificently," interjected Emma. "Why, just yesterday I heard the loveliest Bach sonata coming from the parlor. I thought I was at the Academy of Music."

"Musical gifts, to add to her beauty?" exclaimed Wicken.

"But she is too modest," said Emma. "She is artistic. She writes poetry and verse. I can only imagine how a trip to Europe would enhance her poetic sensibilities." Augusta turned scarlet and darted a look of displeasure at her mother.

"Please," she faltered, "I would rather read the poets than attempt to match them." The conversation trailed off, with no further a.s.sistance from Augusta. Mr. Wicken became distracted, glancing down at the audience, eying the crowd. Emma fluttered her fan, groping for pleasantries.

Emma leaned closer to him and raised her fan to whisper, "Augusta may seem sophisticated, but she is just shy, and very pure at heart." His glance now s.h.i.+fted to Augusta, whose neckline was bare of jewelry, the dusty color of her dress emphasizing the milky whiteness of her skin. Emma, still whispering, said, "Mr. Wicken, I shall be having a party at the end of January. I do hope you will attend."

Wicken narrowed his eyes, and glanced downward at Emma's chest. Emma was not sure if he was eying her rubies or her decolletage. "Why thank you, I'd be delighted," then he added, "for the singular pleasure of seeing Miss Augusta again." Emma exhaled as the curtain rose. A gain was made. She pictured Wicken on horseback, galloping under a row of mossy oaks, with Augusta on the back of the saddle, headed to a pillared plantation house. Augusta was looking at her lap, picking on the b.u.t.ton of her glove.

The opera finished, without Dr. Burdell. After the performance, his carriage was in the pile at the curb, waiting, with Samuel dressed in britches on the perch. Emma contemplated asking Samuel why Dr. Burdell had never appeared, or if he knew where he might be, but she resisted the impropriety of engaging a servant in conversation in the presence of Mr. Wicken. As the carriage headed up Broadway, Mr. Wicken suggested they stop for a sherry at the Majestic Hotel. Emma declined, insisting instead that the carriage return her home, and that he and Augusta should continue for a drink. She saw the look of panic on Augusta's face at the suggestion but was relieved when the carriage pulled away, leaving Emma at the door of 31 Bond Street, with Augusta's soft voice trailing away in conversation.

Emma let herself into the house. The servants had dimmed the gas sconces along the hall. Upstairs, there was no light under Dr. Burdell's door. In her room, she took off her dress and left it in a puddle on the floor. What a waste of a dress and a corset, she thought, without a man to place his hand firmly along its cinched waist and guide the elaborate construction of jewels and fabric through the crowd. Why had Dr. Burdell arranged for Mr. Wicken to escort them to the opera, without coming himself? As for Mr. Wicken and Augusta, however, it was a perfect match.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

She had tossed and turned all night, listening for Dr. Burdell to return. When she pa.s.sed down the stairs early in the morning his door was inscrutably locked, with no signs of light under the crack. She finished a small breakfast and headed out to Broadway, where the wintry streets were bustling with people wrapped in scarves and m.u.f.flers, in all colors of cashmere. She wandered past the finest shops and stopped inside to place orders for pastries and liquors and fine champagnes for her party next month. Augusta's birthday was approaching. She would order engraved invitations to send around to her old acquaintances, to Doctor Burdell's patients, and to the neighbors on Bond Street-people she had never met, prominent families that she hoped would appear with their unmarried cousins and single sons. She would make it a fine affair, and besides being for Augusta, it would serve another purpose as well: it was time she and Dr. Burdell presented themselves as a couple. It would be the perfect time to announce their engagement.

It was early afternoon when she returned to the house and let herself into the front door using her key. She untied her hat and removed the hatpin, pausing before the mirror in the hall. In the still of the afternoon, the patients were finished, so there was no sign of the errand boy, usually stationed at the front door. She pulled off her gloves and adjusted her hair in the pier mirror. Distracted, she walked into the front parlor and picked up some sewing left by Augusta on a chair. The large sliding doors separating the two parlors were pulled shut. She went back out to the hall to enter the back parlor, wanting to look over the furniture arrangement to make plans for her party, and she pulled open the door to see Dr. Burdell seated, intently talking with an elderly gentleman.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she said startled. "I did not mean to intrude."

A cast came over Dr. Burdell's eyes, and his lip curled in disapproval. "Emma, this is Commodore Vanderkirk," he said reluctantly. The man stumbled to his feet. He had a florid face with flushed cheeks and was swaddled in expensive clothing. His midriff spilled forward, knocking him off ballast, as if he were not comfortable standing fully upright.

"So enchanted to meet your lovely wife. You're a lucky man," said the Commodore. The shadow across Dr. Burdell's eyes deepened. She expected Dr. Burdell to correct his guest's error at a.s.suming she was his wife and introduce her properly, but he did not.

Emma took the lead. "Please, sit down, sir. I am so sorry for the interruption. I feared that Augusta left her piano music in here. My daughters are so absentminded." The man sank heavily into the stuffed armchair, like an overfed child. He twisted a large gold ring on his fat finger.

"No intrusion, my dear. I love the sight of a woman in the afternoon. It is a dull day of business that is not graced by the sight of the female s.e.x." He grinned appreciatively at Emma.

Emma laughed. "I hope my daughters do not fly by, for then you will have a great distraction."

"Oh my, a bevy of lovelies. Unfortunately, my own have flown the coop," he said ruefully. On a low table, spread before the seated men, were long maps that she recognized to be of Elizabeth, New Jersey. Emma saw her name scrawled across one tract, a vast empty terrain. "Come look," offered the Commodore. "I'd keep a woman alongside me during all my business dealings if I could-just like at c.r.a.ps-they bring you luck." Dr. Burdell sat on the edge of a wooden chair, leaning forward, glowering. Emma was pleased at the attention. She attempted a charming banter that always worked favorably with men.

"I profess that I wouldn't be much of an a.s.set if you are discussing business. I don't understand much about land or s.h.i.+pping," said Emma. "I only know that I can see the clipper s.h.i.+ps backed up all the way to the Narrows, waiting to find berths."

"s.h.i.+pping is no mystery," the Commodore replied, amused. "But I am done with clipper s.h.i.+ps. Soon there will only be iron s.h.i.+ps pulling up to iron piers that will unload cargo onto railways that will carry it straight across the continent. There won't be a piece of wood or sailcloth in sight."

"Well, then, the world will be quite unrecognizable," Emma said, rolling her eyes to the heavens. As she suspected, the gesture amused him. He laughed heartily, which made his gouty flesh jiggle like jelly.

"It is already unrecognizable, my dear. You are just living under an illusion that the world is a familiar place. Familiarity is just smoke and mirrors."

"Emma," interrupted Dr. Burdell, sternly. "Shouldn't you see to supper?" It was clear that he wanted her gone.

"Ah, domesticity calling," chuckled the Commodore. "Such a shame."

"Excuse me, but I have a meal to oversee." Emma laughed and curtsied. Before she retreated she said, "Oh, sir, I would like to invite you to a party we are having, on January thirtieth. Just a small affair," she ventured.

"How kind, to offer an invitation! But my wife has me running all over town to engagements, so that all I do is dress and eat. Pitiful existence, I tell you. I shall have to ask you to address all such propositions to my social secretary-my wife."

Emma again gave a slight curtsy. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Commodore Vanderkirk."