"You score!" he answered, when the merriment had subsided.
But Herford, instead of meeting the acknowledgment half way with a quick declination, gave a supercilious shrug and a lift of the eyebrows, and turned away. Whereby, he lost all the advantage, and proved himself a prig; whereas Sir Edward was marked as well-bred, and the impropriety of his original retort was forgotten. Furthermore, it had served to pass over Herford's query, and to make the table forget it—and that was Parkington's main concern. He supposed it would come out—it was not likely Miss Marbury or Miss Tyler could keep silent—but he preferred that it should not be told to the whole company, in his presence.
VII SIR EDWARD LAYS PLANS
Sir Edward Parkington lay awake, for a long time that night, thinking. It was good sport, this posing as another man, and he had entered upon it much as he had entered upon all his escapades, for the fun of it—and the amusement of seeing himself received and accorded the welcome belonging to some one else.
And he had enjoyed it thoroughly, until yesterday. Then, the question suddenly presented itself!—if you are going to remain in America, how is this thing to end? What are you to be, when it is over—for it cannot last forever; it is sure to be found out; some one, who knew Sir Edward, in the flesh, or who knows you, will come upon you, and the truth will out. He might masquerade for a year, or two years even, scarcely longer—and, then, again, he might be detected, at any moment. He had not thought of the hazard—of the punishment that awaited when he assumed the impersonation. He saw only how easy it would be—a dead man, his letters, and the thing was done. But, once done, it was not so easy to undo it. The only way, was for Sir Edward Parkington to die a second time, and finally—and his body not be found. And that would necessitate his disappearance—to a sufficiently distant city where his name and figure were not known: Boston—New York—Charleston.
He had heard of Charleston, as a particularly nice town—after Annapolis, the best in America. Of New York, he knew but little; of Boston, still less. Moreover, he preferred the warmth of the South, and the people, there, were said to be very hospitable. He had never heard that of New York, and he had a distinct recollection that Boston was reputed a most inhospitable town. Yes, he would choose Charleston—it was farther removed from the ways of travel, more isolated. There, he could put off his borrowed plumes and stand forth as his true self, and no one would be the wiser. He would leave Annapolis as Sir Edward Parkington, bound for Philadelphia. He would reach there another man; and the first ship which left that port, Southward-bound, would have him for a passenger. Yes, decidedly, it was the best way—when the time came for him to leave Annapolis.
There was no need for haste—he had the whole summer before him. It was not likely he would be found out before the late Autumn; it took a vessel nine weeks to make the voyage across. He had taken a strong liking for this Maryland, and her people, and the life they led. He thought he would like to lead it with them.
And this Marbury business was the right idea—if he had only come in his proper person. Well, he had not, and it behooved him to make the best of it. Barring accidents, there was small chance of the impersonation being detected before October, and much could be accomplished in the interim. At least, he would have a good time, and the explanations could wait....