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 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 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."