“You can divulge anything in a crisis like this, Maida.”
“No, I cannot. Before he—before he died, Mr. Appleby told me something that I will never tell, unless my conscience makes me do so.”
“Isn’t it a matter of conscience already?”
“I don’t know, Jeff; truly, I can’t tell. But much as I am bound by my principles of right, and you know, dear, I am conscientious, I would willingly throw them all to the winds if they interfered with my parents’ happiness, well-being or safety.”
“Let me get this straight, Maida. You would stifle your conscience, would act directly against its dictates for the sake of your parents?”
“Yes, Jeffrey; right or wrong, that’s what I should do.”
“Who am I that I should judge you, dear? I know well your lifelong submission to your conscience, even when your inclinations were strong the other way. Now, if you have thrown over principle, honor, conscience and right, for what you consider a stronger motive, I can only accept your decision. But I wish you would confide in me more fully. Do you mean in regard to Mr. Appleby?”
“Of course I mean in regard to Mr. Appleby. And I’m going to ask you, Jeff, to believe what I tell you.”
“Of course I’ll do that, Maida.”
“No; you won’t want to. But I ask you to believe it implicitly and to act accordingly. Do you promise me this?”