"I grant you that," said Parkington; "but the trouble with us seems to be, that, as the country grows broader in civilization, it loses in morals.—You are headed the same way; it is only a question of a little time until you are up with us."
"Do you mean it will come in my day?—that I shall see it?"
"Yes, I do—you colonists are learning fast. Witness, the Stamp Act, and so on. You are growing powerful, and with power comes laxity. But, we diverge—we were discussing our hostess; scarcely, the best-bred thing to do, but excusable under the circumstances. Has she never been in love—since she came to Annapolis, I mean?"
"I think not," said Plater; "at least, there never has been any indication of it. The one man she seems to like at all times, is Richard Maynadier—and he is almost old enough to be her father. He never has attempted to grow sentimental. He could not, if he wanted to. Maynadier and sentiment are strangers to each other."
("A word to the wise!" thought Parkington. "I must have a care, I see, for Mr. Richard Maynadier. No sentiment? Why, the man is full of it, or I observed him very poorly, last night.") What he said was: "Sometimes it is the slow hound that catches the fox, you know."
"Meaning Maynadier?" laughed Plater.
"No one else is eligible, you say."
"I did not say he was eligible."
"But he is the only one who is given an opportunity—consequently, he must have a chance, if he care to take it."