Mysterious hints were dropped of political reunions in a house on a
thickly wooded hill, a quarter of a mile behind the Governor's, the
fortunate guests to which enchanted abode being sworn to secrecy. That
it was the nightly resort of Clintonians was an open secret, but that
Federalism was being intelligently interpreted, albeit with deepest
subtlety, was guessed by few of the visitors themselves, and Hamilton
divined rather than heard it. If converts were not actually made, they
were at least undergoing a process of education which would make them
the more susceptible to Hamilton's final effort. Even before he caught a
glimpse of radiant hair among the maples, when riding one day along the
lane at the foot of the hill, he suspected that Mrs. Croix had preceded
the Convention with the deliberate intention of giving him the precious
assistance of a woman with a talent for politics and a genius for men.
He was touched, interested, intrigued, but he resisted the temptation to
precipitate himself into the eddies of her magnetism. Croix was in
England, but even before his departure, which among men was regarded as
final, she had achieved a reputation as a lady of erratic impulse and
imperious habit.
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