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Updated: June 8, 2025
Wappinger, in a larger and more elaborate mansion than the old-fashioned house in Gramercy Park, was reading to her son such portions of a letter from James van Tromp as she considered it discreet for him to hear. A stout, florid lady, in jovial middle age, her appearance as an agent in her affairs would certainly have surprised Diane, had the vision been vouchsafed to her.
He would dispel them by seeing with his own eyes that they had no force, while he would convict Miss Lucilla of groundless alarm by ocular demonstration. It would be enough, he was sure, to watch the young people together to prove beyond cavil that Dorothea was aware of the gulf between the son of Mrs. Wappinger, worthy woman though she might be, and a daughter of the Pruyns.
She had no time to indulge in memories, but a tremor shot through her frame as she took up the pen and wrote on a sheet of paper which he had already headed with a date: "I have bad news for you, but I hope I may be in time to keep it from being worse. I have reason to think that Dorothea has gone to Lakefield to be married there to Carli Wappinger.
Passing over those sentences in which the old man admitted the wisdom of her decision in rejecting his proposals, on the ground that he saw now that the married state would not have suited him, Mrs. Wappinger came to what was of common interest.
She was calmer than he as she made her reply. "It doesn't mean that I defy you. I love you too much to put either you or myself in such an odious position as that. But it does mean that one day, sooner or later, I shall marry Mr. Wappinger." He looked at her with a bitter smile. "I admire your frankness, Dorothea," he said, after a brief pause, "and I shall do my best to imitate it.
Wappinger conveyed in the thirty minutes her visit lasted. She began by explaining that she was a friend of James van Tromp's a very great friend. In fact, her husband had been at one time a partner in the Van Tromp banking-house; but it was an old business, and what they call conservative, while Mr. Wappinger was from the West. The West was a long way ahead of New York, though Mrs.
Beyond Fishkill the Post Road traverses a high plateau whose fertile soil is well cultivated, a country beautiful after its kind, but to one fresh from the grandeur of the Highlands the stretch of six miles to Wappinger Falls seems but a tame affair, with only one of the old mile-stones left to tell the tale of long ago. This seemed to read "71 M. to N. York."
"I'm going to have him," she stated, with energy. "You go round and tell Dorothea she's got to bring him she's just got to, that's all. He'll come I know he will. There are forces at work here that you and I don't see, and if something doesn't happen, my name isn't Clara Wappinger." With this mysterious saying she rose, to leave Carli to his music. "How very occult!" he laughed.
A flush came into her cheek, and she twisted her fingers in embarrassment. "I wonder", she faltered, "if if you could let me have a little money? I shall need some, and and I haven't any." "Oh, my dear! my poor dear!" Mrs. Wappinger bustled away, crumpling the notes she found in her desk into a little ball, which she forced into Diane's hand.
If Dorothea perceived him, she gave no sign. It was clear to Derek that her spurt of rebellion was over, and that her little experience had done her no harm. The name of Wappinger being tacitly ignored between them, he could only express his pleasure, in the results he had achieved, by an extravagant increase of Dorothea's allowance, and gifts of inappropriate jewels.
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