"If you mean, have I picked out a mate for either?—no. And I think that they have not picked for themselves."
"Miss Marbury is a particularly fine girl—she should have suitors in plenty."
Marbury did not answer.
"And young Mr. Marbury, as the future master of Hedgely Hall, if for nothing else, is a most desirable parti—and he is a mighty good fellow, besides."
"I think I can trust them," said Marbury, quietly. "They may take their own time."
And Parkington, fearing that he had gone a bit too far, made haste to change the subject.
Marbury was a queer man, one of the peculiar temperament, likely, which, having no confidants and no intimates, will suddenly tell a life's secrets to a casual acquaintance, and then repent it forever after. True, he had not told him much that he could not have heard, any time, at the Coffee-house, but that made small difference. It was the telling which he would regret, the burst of confidence, that was foreign to his nature—and for which he was likely to hold Parkington responsible, or, at least, to distrust him, hereafter.
And this did not chime with Parkington's idea. If he were going to pay court to the daughter, with any notion of matrimony, it were well not to have the father's ill will, especially, when it involved such a confession as he would have to make.
So he turned the talk into less personal channels—of the yield of tobacco, the manner of curing and packing it, the custom duties, and the varying prices which it brought in London. Marbury talked freely and interestingly. It was his life's work, and no man in the Province was more conversant with the subject and all its ramifications. He had grown tobacco, as servant and master, for thirty-five years; he could tell to a pound what his yields had been every year, what it had netted after the inspection duties were collected, and what his profits were. By the Act of Assembly, passed only three years before, tobacco was the staple currency of Maryland—every officer, from Governor down through the list, was paid in it, as were the clergy, and all large commercial transactions were conducted in warehouse receipts for inspected tobacco—in fact, no tobacco could be sold unless inspected and passed.
Parkington was not especially interested in tobacco, but he pretended to be, and it served his purpose admirably. Marbury seemed to forget his indiscretion of a short time ago, and, when they came to the house, he was still talking on tobacco.