The Law-Breakers and Other Stories | Page 5

she had condescendingly shirked the real inquiry.
"It is so hard to put oneself in another's place. The excuses you have
given for his conduct seem to me inadequate. That is, if a man gave
those reasons to me--I believe I could never trust him again." Mary
spoke with conviction, but she realized that she felt like a grandmother.
"Thank you," said Miss Burke. "That's what I wished to know." She
looked at the floor for an instant. "Suppose you felt that you could trust
him?"
Mary smiled and reflected. "If I loved him enough for that, I dare say I
should forgive him."
"You really would?" Then Miss Burke perceived that in her elation she
had failed to observe the logical inconsistency which the counsel
contained. "I don't know that I understand exactly," she added.
Mary smiled again, then shook her head. "I doubt if I can make it any
plainer than that. I mean that--if I were you--I should have to feel
absolutely sure that I loved him; and even then--" She paused without
completing the ellipsis. "As to that, dear, no one can enlighten you but
yourself.'

"Of course," said poor Miss Burke. Yet she was already beginning to
suspect that the sphinx-like utterance might contain both the kernel of
eternal feminine truth and the real answer to her own doubts.

II
Some two months later the Meteoric, one of the fast ocean greyhounds,
was approaching the port of New York. At sight of land the cabin
passengers, who had been killing time resignedly in one another's
society, became possessed with a rampant desire to leave the vessel as
soon as possible. When it was definitely announced that the Meteoric
would reach her dock early enough in the afternoon to enable them to
have their baggage examined and get away before dark, they gave vent
to their pent-up spirits in mutual congratulations and adieus.
Among those on board thus chafing to escape from the limitations of an
ocean voyage was George Colfax, whose eagerness to land was
enhanced by the hope that his absence had made the heart of his
lady-love fonder. His travels had been restful and stimulating; but there
is nothing like one's own country, after all. So he reflected as, cigar in
mouth, he perused the newspapers which the pilot had brought, and
watched the coast-line gradually change to the familiar monuments of
Manhattan.
Yet apparently there was a subconsciousness to his thought, for as he
folded his last newspaper and stretched himself with the languor of a
man no longer harried by lack of knowledge as to what has happened
during the last seven days, he muttered under his breath:
"Confound the customs anyway!"
A flutter of garments and a breezy voice brought him politely to his
feet.
"That's over with, thank Heaven!" The speaker was a charming woman
from Boston, whose society he had found engrossing during the
voyage--a woman of the polite world, voluble and well informed.

"I just signed and swore to the paper they gave me without reading it,"
she added, with a gay shrug of her shoulders, as though she were well
content with this summary treatment of a distasteful matter. "Have you
made your declaration yet?" she asked indifferently.
"No."
"What I don't understand is why they should make you take oath to a
thing and then rummage through your trunks as though they didn't
believe you."
"It's an outrage--an infernal outrage," said George. "Every time the
Government does it the spirit of American institutions is insulted."
"I haven't much with me this time, anyway; they can hardly expect that
a person will go to Europe for six months and not bring back more than
one hundred dollars' worth of things," continued Miss Golightly
artlessly. "One might almost as well stay at home. It isn't as if I bought
them to sell. They are my own ownty donty effects, and I've no
intention of paying the Government one cent on them if I can help it.
And they charge one for presents. Of course, I won't pay on presents I
have bought to give other people. That would simply make them cost
so much more."
"The whole thing is a wretched and humiliating farce," was George's
not altogether illuminating comment on this naive revelation of the
workings of the female mind. He spoke doggedly, and then hummed
the refrain of a song as though to keep up his courage.
"Well, I'll go and take my turn," he said, with the air of aristocratic
urbanity which made him a favorite in social circles.
Miss Golightly detained him to add: "If you find any better method, I
wish you'd let me know. It seemed the simplest way not to declare
anything, and to trust to luck."
So great was the