"Oh, really big?" Rosamond's tender eyes came to meet her husband's.
"Stephen, do you think he is quite—scrupulous?—wholly honourable?"
"I have no reason to think otherwise, Rosy."
She shook her head. "Somehow I—could never quite trust him. He would live strictly by the letter of the law—but the spirit—"
"Expect people to live by the spirit—these days, little girl?" inquired
Louis, with an affectionate glance at her.
She gazed straight back. "Yes. You do it—and so does Stephen—and
Father Gray—and Uncle Calvin."
The eyes of the brothers met above her fair head, and they smiled.
"That's high distinction, from you, dear," said her husband. "But you must not do Westcott injustice. He has the reputation of being sharp as a knife blade, and of outwitting men in fair contest in court and out of it, but no shadow has ever touched his character."
Still she shook her head. "I can't help it. I don't want Rob to marry him."
The young men laughed together, and Rosamond smiled with them.
"There you have it," said Louis. "There's no going behind those returns. The county votes no, and the candidate is defeated. Let him console himself with the vote from other counties—if he can."