"What is that?" he called out. "Thinking of settling in Maryland--do they mean you, Sir Edward?" "No!" replied Parkington, instantly. "We were speaking of the Devil--and wondering, if he were to settle here, how long he would escape inquisitive questions. May be you can answer." It was said smilingly, and apparently with the best spirit, but none who heard it missed the sting. And in Herford's face a faint color came, and his eyes snapped. "It would depend on how it pleased him to masquerade," he retorted; "some disguises are, you know, more effective than others, but I should say he would be most successful as an English gentleman." Sir Edward's smile broadened into a laugh, and the rest of the table, seeing that he took it so, joined in. "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.