“Unless our ears deceive us, Patsy, those young people are in pretty fair spirits,” he said, with a courtly bow to Mrs. Davidson, who stood at his elbow dressed like Martha Washington.
She wore an old-fashioned brocade gown, with her powdered hair rolled back from her forehead over a cushion.
“The same thought has occurred to myself, General,” she replied archly, as she arranged the white ruffles at his wrists. “They are bent on mystifying their sisters to-night, and are highly pleased with the costumes selected.”
“That is evident, madam. Are you the only one in the secret?”
“The only one besides Mrs. Rowe. The boys want to mingle in the crowd before giving you an opportunity to recognize them. Shall we go on?”
The false father of his country bowed assent, and reached for his three-cornered hat.
“Since it is your will, madam, we will depart forthwith.”
The Revolutionary pair had secured reserved seats in a sun parlor overlooking the plaza, and Mr. and Mrs. Rowe occupied chairs near them. Mrs. Rowe wore a black silk dress, and had thrown over her head a lace mantilla. Mr. Rowe sported a Spanish hat and cloak.
“Papa plays he’s a Spanish man, Auntie David, so he won’t get cold,” explained pink-robed Weezy.
Little Miss Weezy had known Mrs. Davidson and Captain Bradstreet at first sight, because Pauline had described the garments in which they would appear.