In the late afternoon, the Snowdens arrived from Montpelier, and, a little later, the Platers from Sotterly. They were young married people and added much to the company. Mrs. Snowden was a Leigh of Virginia, and Mrs. Plater was the only daughter and heiress of Colonel John Rousby, of Rousby Hall in Calvert County.  
The former came down the Patuxent in their barge, rowed by a dozen sturdy blacks; the Platers by coach and four, with postilions and footmen, and made a gallant show as they dashed up the avenue and drew up, with a grand flourish, before the entrance.
 
The company was on the lawn, at the side of the house, playing at bowls or idling the day away as they saw fit, but they crowded forward, and made a great to do over them.
 
"I vow I am almost dead," said Mrs. Plater, at last; "pray, get me away, Judith, or I shall faint. The roads are terrific, and the jolting has well nigh finished me."
 
"You poor dear!" exclaimed Miss Marbury, and straightway carried her off to her room.
 
Miss Stirling was not in the company that received the Snowdens and the Platers. She saw them come, from behind the curtains of her window, but did not show herself. She was in déshabillé, which[Pg 105] was sufficient excuse, and she was engaged in writing a letter, which was abundant excuse—more especially, as it was of exceeding length and filled with gossip.
 
It was to Lady Catherwood, in London, and essayed to relate all that had happened since she left, and besought her to reply, in kind. Much of it had to do with the men she had met, less, with the women—though they came in for a share. Mr. Worthington, Mr. Paca, Mr. Brice, and Mr. Constable she found most agreeable and charming, Captain Herford was mainly a bore, though, at times, he could be most entertaining. He was a good catch, as he was reputed to be wealthy, and, in addition, was an officer in the Royal American Regiment. He had conceived a most absurd fondness for herself, however; which was most embarrassing, because he did not want to give any of the other men a chance to be nice to her. She did not care to snub him, on her uncle's account, but it was pretty hard, sometimes, not to do it.
 
There was one man, who had attracted her more than all the others—indeed, she could grow very fond of him, if he would only respond in the slightest degree. Mr. Richard Maynadier was his name. He was considerable older, was, in fact, a member of the Council and a man of material importance in the Colony. She had done everything to attract him, consistent with maidenly reserve—and, may be, a bit more; and he knew it, too, and laughed her, good naturedly, aside. He was courteous, of[Pg 106] course, in the very best way, but steadily refused to be brought nearer. And it piqued her. To have all the men devoted, except the one she desired! It was not at all serious, but, mainly, because he would not have it. In fact, if there was any one in Maryland who might persuade her to remain, it was Richard Maynadier.
 
At the end, she wrote this postscript—which was the real object of the letter:
 
"P. S. Did you ever Chance to Meet a Sir Edward Parkington, or do you Know of Him? He is arrived, lately, at Annapolis, bringing Letters of Introduction to Governor Sharpe and Mr. Dulany. He tells a wondrous story of Shipwreck, and being cast up by the waves, some miles below here, and All on board being lost, Save only him. He is exceedingly Affable, and pleasant, and has made a Good Impression on Every one. I wish you would Ascertain—if you do not already know—whether he is Married—his actions are those of a Bachelor, but no one has Inquired, and I care not to ask him. He has the loveliest Manners, he dances the Minuet with Marvelous Grace, and he can make love better than any Man I ever Met. He says he is going to stay the Summer. He is Tall and slender, with black hair, blue eyes and fair complexion. Be sure to tell me, when you Answer—and anything else you know concerning him.
 
"M. S."
 
[Pg 107]
 
"I wish I had written three weeks ago," she reflected. "It will require nine or ten weeks for this letter to reach England, and as many coming back, and, allowing for the necessary delay at both ends and the time she takes to reply, it will be all of five months and, maybe, six, before I can hope for an answer. That will be the first of November, at least—and, like enough, you will be gone before, then, Sir Edward," she said, looking out at the man standing in the group on the lawn below her.
 
She folded the letter carefully, and affixed the seals, then laid it aside, to be sent to Annapolis and included in his Excellency's mail for forwarding. In that way, she would save postage, and as the missive was several ounces in weight, at five shillings the ounce, it made purely friendly communications rather expensive.
 
It was nearly supper-time when she appeared on the lawn, looking exceedingly sweet in a flowered pink silk, to find a new arrival—Mr. Richard Maynadier. He had ridden across from his place, Rose Hill, which adjoined Hedgely Hall on the North.
 
"Ah, Miss Stirling!" he said, with a low bow. "The evening star shines pale beside you."
 
"And the morning star not at all!" she laughed. "Thanks, monsieur, my warmest thanks.—But I wonder that you are not afraid to pay me compliments."
 
"No," he said. "Compliments are safe—they lead to nothing."
 
[Pg 108]
 
"Because they are mainly false?" she asked.
 
"Not exactly—because they do not commit one, I should say—and every one takes them at their value; there is no danger of being misunderstood."
 
"You are dreadfully afraid of being misunderstood!" she mocked.
 
"Perhaps!" he smiled. "What these young macaronies" (with a motion, indicating those around him) "could venture with impunity, we older heads dare not. It is not dignified for us."
 
"Then do not ever fall in love, Mr. Maynadier; love is the most undignified of all our frailties."
 
"In what way is it undignified?" he asked.
 
"In every way—particularly, in the exhibition of one's feelings. Every one makes sport of the lover—every one laughs at him."
 
"Then the world is overrun with fools—for they are but laughing at themselves. No, no, my lady! I find no fault with love, ever—only with him who simulates it, and is old enough to know better. Comprenez vous?"
 
"Oh, yes, I understand," she said, with a frank smile; "but I do not agree with you."
 
"A woman's privilege! she never agrees, and is fascinating always."
 
"Perversity, you think?"
 
"Diversity!" he laughed, and bowed himself away.
 
At supper, a little later, he occupied a place beside Miss Marbury. Parkington was at the opposite end of the table, one removed from the silent[Pg 109] host, whom he was trying, as best he could, to bring into the conversation, but with indifferent success. A word, a nod, a short sentence, rarely, was all that he could elicit. But even Maynadier could not have got as much out of him—and he watched them, contemplatively, through the meal....
 
What was the man's idea—what was his purpose? What was there about him to make old Marbury talk—why was he taking the trouble to make him talk? In short, had he an object in it? But, then, why was he in Maryland at all? What was he doing here? Was he a spy—a secret agent, sent hither for a purpose; and what was that purpose? He came duly accredited, and his letters were in form and regular—the signature, indeed, the entire writing, was Lord Baltimore's own.... It was very peculiar, surely. Of course, the Governor knew—he would have been informed—but the Governor had seen fit to be silent, and even they, of the Council, did not pry in matters which did not concern them—his Excellency had a way about him that forbade it.
 
He had met Sir Edward Parkington in London, two years before, and this was not he. But he had seen Colonel Sharpe, at the Races, introduced him as Sir Edward, and so, a little later, when he himself was presented by Miss Stirling, he had accepted it. The man knew how to act the part—indeed, he appeared to be far above the calibre of Parkington. Parkington, as he remembered, was pretty much of a rake—one of Baltimore's own. But[Pg 110] this man had been very circumspect, and his deportment most proper.... He might be a great noble—his manner suggested it—come over incog. to view the country, and to get information at first hand on the temper of the people. Indeed, he might be anything and any one—but, assuredly, he was not Sir Edward Parkington. However, it was not his business to unmask him, after Colonel Sharpe had accepted him and vouched for him.
 
"Why did you shrug your shoulders?" Miss Marbury asked, suddenly.
 
"Did I shrug my shoulders?" he said. "I did not know it."
 
"Yes, you did; now why did you do it?"
 
"I do not know."
 
"Which is another way of saying, I should not have asked."
 
"You may ask me anything," he said.
 
"And not give offense, you mean," she supplemented. "But you reserve the right to answer only what you choose."
 
"Do you think so?" smiling.
 
"Yes, I do.—Please tell me, Dick?" she plead.
 
"Please tell you what?" he said, indulgently.
 
"Why you shrugged your shoulders—you were looking toward father—has he done anything—I mean, was he the cause?"
 
"No, child, he had nothing to do with it."
 
"You are not deceiving me?"
 
"Have I ever deceived you?" he asked.
 
"No! no!" she said. "I did not mean it—but[Pg 111] I thought that, maybe, he had—you understand."
 
"I understand that you are unnecessarily sensitive," he answered. "Your father is a bit eccentric, but he is neither churlish nor ill-mannered—and he is rich enough to be both, if he so wished."
 
"You believe in wealth, then?" she asked. "You believe that wealth is equal to birth?"
 
"In a social sense, yes," said he. "Both are the keys to good society.—By birth one belongs, by wealth one buys a right to belong. It is all the same. For my part, I would rather be the wealthy buyer than the poor belonger—it is so much more satisfactory."
 
"But when one has both wealth and birth—like you," she persisted, "how do the buyers appear—what do you think of them?"
 
He leaned close over. "Just what they are worth," he answered—"just what they are worth."
 
"And what are we worth, Dick?" she said impulsively; "we are buyers—what are we worth?"
 
"As a general proposition," laying his hand on her arm, and speaking very earnestly, "the Marburys are worth exactly what they measure. You, my dear, have measured up, far up."
 
She looked at him with searching eyes. "You mean it—you are sure you mean it?"
 
"Sure—absolutely sure!"
 
She gave a little sigh of relief. "You are very good—I am satisfied now—if you approve, there will be none who dare disapprove."
 
[Pg 112]
 
"There will be none who care to disapprove," he said. "Yours was a more difficult case than George's—he had only the men to satisfy, and that is easy, where one is a good fellow and a manly. You had the women—and women are jealous, vindictive and irresponsible. But you won. They all are for you—there is not one that is even undecided."
 
"I am glad, very glad," she said. "I want to please them—I was afraid I had failed. You are a dear to tell me this—a perfect dear, Dick."
 
The sweet unaffectedness was refreshing. It is not possible, he thought, that the girl does not know she is beautiful. One look in her mirror would tell her, one glance at her figure—her complexion, her eyes, her hair—oh! assuredly, she must know it.
 
He had seen it coming, had seen it grow. Six years ago, when they first came to Annapolis, he had marked her—the young girl just budding into womanhood. He had been of those who early accepted the Marburys, and four years later, when Hedgely Hall was offered for sale, the fact that his place adjoined it, was, he knew, a consideration for its purchase. Since then, he had watched the woman beside him perfect into the beauty of to-day—with all the winsomeness, all the freshness, of the unspoiled and unaffected. He had seen it as none other, for he had a place in the household which was for him alone—he was guide and mentor[Pg 113] and elder brother to............