“They are sometimes more interesting,” said the Englishman; “but do you know, I am surprised to hear an American speak in this way.  I thought you were all on a level here in a republic.”

“Oh, my lord!” expostulated Stuyvesant, deprecatingly.  “You don’t think I would associate with shopkeepers and common tradesmen?”

“I don’t know.  A cousin of mine is interested in a wine business in London.  He is a younger son with a small fortune, and draws a very tidy income from his city business.”

“But his name doesn’t appear on the sign, I infer.”

“No, I think not.  Then you are not in business, Mr. Stuyvesant?”

“No; I inherited an income from my father.  It isn’t as large as I could wish, and I have abstained from marrying because I could not maintain the mode of living to which I have been accustomed.”

“You should marry a rich girl.”

“True!  I may do so, since your lordship recommends it.  In fact, I have in view a young lady whose father was once lord mayor (I beg pardon, mayor) of New York.  Her father is worth a million.”

“Pounds?”

“Well, no, dollars.  I should have said two hundred thousand pounds.”

“If the girl is willing, it may be a good plan.”

“Thank you, my lord.  Your advice is very kind.”

“The young man seems on very good terms with Lord Bedford,” said Carl’s companion, whose name was Atwood, with a shade of envy in his voice.

“Yes,” said Carl.

“I wish he would introduce me,” went on Mr. Atwood.

“I should prefer the introduction of a different man,” said Carl.

“Why?  He seems to move in good society.”

“Without belonging to it.”

“Then you know him?”

“Better than I wish I did.”

Atwood looked curious.

“I will explain later,” said Carl; “now I must go in to breakfast.”

“I will go with you.”

Though Stuyvesant had glanced at Carl, he did not appear to recognize him, partly, no doubt, because he had no expectation of meeting the boy he had robbed, at Niagara.  Besides, his time and attention were so much taken up by his aristocratic acquaintance that he had little notice for anyone else.  Carl observed with mingled amusement and vexation that Mr. Stuyvesant wore a new necktie, which he had bought for himself in New York, and which had been in the stolen gripsack.

“If I can find Lord Bedford alone I will put him on his guard,” thought Carl.  “I shall spoil Mr. Stuyvesant’s plans.”

After breakfast Carl prepared to go down to the falls.

On the way he overtook Lord Bedford walking in the same direction, and, as it happened, without a companion.  Carl quickened his pace, and as he caught up with him, he raised his hat, and said:  “Lord Bedford, I believe.”

“Yes,” answered the Englishman, inquiringly.

“I must apologize for addressing a stranger, but I want to put you on your guard against a young man whom I saw walking with you on the piazza.”