"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." "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 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.