"Well, Sir Edward, you are enjoying yourself," he said, with a bit of a smile. "You danced every dance, and you went in to supper with Miss Stirling. Every one, from the Governor down, did his best to entertain you, except that fool Herford, and he is jealous. I compliment you, sir, upon the favorable impression you have made.... But, where the devil, have I seen that fellow Maynadier, before? Somewhere, I am perfectly sure, but where?—where? And I cannot make out whether he recognized only something familiar about me, or whether he did not recognize me at all. At any rate, I hope it was the latter. Herford is one with whom I would best be careful—not for what he knows, but on general principles. He is in love with Miss Stirling, and cannot see she does not care a rap for him. With Maynadier, it is a casual interest, nothing more. He would not cross the street to make sure of her. And, even if he knew I was a masquerader, I question whether he would do more than to warn me out of Maryland. With Herford, it is very different; he would proclaim me, from the State House, as an impostor and a thief—and all because of Mistress Martha Stirling! Well, for that I cannot blame him. She is marvelously pretty, and an arrant flirt. She cares no more for me than she does for Herford; but I can see it, and he cannot. The girl annoys me, too, with her self-complacency; she is so frank withal, and yet so alluring. I do not wonder that she has all the young men, of the town, bound to her chariot's wheels. She has started to bind me.—Good, we shall see who is bound, when the binding cease."
He stretched, and yawned; then arose, dressed himself, and went down to the Coffee-house for breakfast.
"It's a fine day, sir," said Sparrow, as he took his order.
"Now that you draw my attention to it, I observe that it is a very fine day." Then he laughed. "Sparrow, why is it that every innkeeper says the same thing to a guest—a fine day or a nasty day, as the case may be? It is neither informing nor original. Why, the devil, do you not get a new greeting?"
"I don't know, sir—I don't know. It is easy to say, and does not give offense. You are the first, begging your pardon, sir, who ever found fault with it. I used the same in London."
"You come from London?" said Sir Edward, carelessly.
"Three years ago, on Saint Jamina's day last past. I remember I waited on you one night at the Golden Lion."
"Your memory is better than mine," looking at him more closely.
"Like enough—like enough, sir. It is much more natural that I should remember. I dare say, you did not so much as look at me."
Parkington shook his head.