"Peter," began Moppet presently, with true feminine persistency, "what were you saying about a British officer who knew Betty?"
"Captain Yorke? He was aide to Sir Henry Clinton."
"Was he? Will he go off to-day with all the other redcoats?"
"He sailed away to England some months ago,—I recollect he came to bid good-by to Clarissa,—but do you know, Moppet," lowering his voice, with a glance over his shoulder to be certain that he was not overheard, "I think I saw him two days ago."
"In New York?" said Moppet, with a start. "Why you said he'd gone to England."
"But he could come back, surely. Moppet, I think he was proper fond of Betty."
"Peter Provoost, do you fancy that my sister would smile on a scarlet coat? You ought to be ashamed of yourself," and Moppet looked the picture of virtuous indignation.
"Well, I've seen her do it," retorted Peter, not in the least abashed, "and what's more I heard him call her 'sweetheart' once."
"Oh, Peter!" Moppet's curiosity very nearly got the better of her discretion; but she halted in time, and bit her tongue to keep it silent.
"And if you won't tell—promise?"—Moppet nodded—"not a word, mind, even to Betty—where do you think I saw Captain Yorke the other day? You'll never guess;—it was at Fraunces's Tavern on Broad Street, and he was in earnest conversation with General Wolcott."