“But they are our country’s laws just the same. And a good man—a patriotic man—ought not to break them.” Mary was conscious of voicing George Colfax’s sentiments as well as her own. The responsibility of the burden imposed on her was trying, and she disliked her part of mentor. Nevertheless, she felt that she must not abstain from stating the vital point clearly; so she continued:
“Is not the real difficulty, my dear, that the man who could be false in one thing might be false in another when the occasion arose?”
Miss Burke flushed at the words, and suddenly covered her face with her hands.
“That’s it, of course. That’s what haunts me. I could forgive him the other—the having been in jail and all that; but it’s the possibility that he might do something worse after we were married—when it was too late—which frightens me. ‘False in one thing, false in everything,’ that’s what the proverb is. Do you believe that is true, Miss Wellington?”
Her unmasked conscience revealed clearly the distress caused by its own sensitiveness; but she spoke beseechingly, as though to invite comfort from her companion on the score of this adage.
“Tell me what sort of a man Mr. Daly is in other respects,” said Mary.
“Oh, he’s kind!” she answered with enthusiasm. “He has been a good son and brother; he is always helping people, and has more friends than any one in the district. I don’t see why he cared for me,” she added with seeming irrelevance.
“It’s a great point in his favor that he does care for you, my dear. Is he steady at his work?”
“When he isn’t too busy with politics. He says that he will give them up, if I insist; but my doing so might prevent his being chosen to Congress.” There was again rueful pride in her plaint.
Mary sat silent for a moment. “He stands convicted of falsehood.” She seemed to be speaking to herself.