At
coffee-houses, at public and private receptions, and in Mrs. Croix's
drawing-room, hardly another subject was broached.
"A fool could understand politics in these days," said Betsey, one
evening in December, with a sigh. "Not a word does one hear of clothes,
gossip, husbands, or babies. Mrs. Washington told me the day after she
returned that she had deliberately thought of nothing but butter and
patchwork during the entire recess, that her poor brain might be able to
stand the strain of the winter. Shall you have to work harder than
ever?"
"I do not know," replied Hamilton, and at that moment he did not. He was
correcting a French exercise of his son's, and feeling domestic and
happy. Jefferson and he had made no pretence at formal amiability this
season; they did not speak at all, but communicated on paper when the
business of their respective departments required an interchange of
opinion. He had vanquished his enemy in print, made him ridiculous in
the eyes of all who read the _Gazettes_. Moreover, Washington, disturbed
during the summer by the constant nagging of Jefferson and his agents,
respecting the "monarchical schemes" and "corrupt practices" of the
Secretary of the Treasury, had formulated the accusations and sent them
to Hamilton for refutation.
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