He felt of his mustache and essayed extenuation. "It was--er--unworthy
of me, of course; foolish--pig-headed--tricky, I suppose. I got mad.
I'd nothing to sell, and the declaration is a farce when they examine
after it. So I left them to find what they chose. I'm terribly sorry,
for you seem to hate it so. But it's an idiotic and impertinent law,
anyway."

"In other words, you think it all right to break a law if you don't
happen to fancy it."

George started visibly and colored. He recognized the aphorism as his,
but for the moment did not recall the occasion of its use. He chose to
evade it by an attempt at banter. "You can't make a tragedy, my dear
girl, out of the failure to pay duties on a few things bought for
one's personal use, and not for sale. Why, nearly every woman in the
world smuggles when she gets the chance--on her clothes and finery.
You must know that. Your sex as a class doesn't regard it as
disreputable in the least. At the worst, it is a peccadillo, not a
crime. The law was passed to enable our native tailors to shear the
well-to-do public."

Mary ignored the plausible indictment against the unscrupulousness of
her sex. "Can such an argument weigh for a moment with any one with
patriotic impulses?"

Again the parrot-like reminder caused him to wince, and this time he
recognized the application.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, with sorry yet protesting confusion.