Now that they lived together, however, the multiplying
suggestions that the old professor was something far other than he
pretended became rather important. The young man could not help being
aware that Nicolovius neither looked nor talked in the slightest degree
like an Irishman. He could not help being certain that an Irishman who
had fled to escape punishment for a political crime, in 1882, could have
safely returned to his country long ago; and would undoubtedly have kept
up relations with his friends overseas in the meantime. Nor could he
help being struck with such facts as that Nicolovius, while apparently
little interested in the occasional cables about Irish affairs, had
become seemingly absorbed in the three days' doings of the United
Confederate Veterans.
Now it was entirely all right for the old man to have a secret, and keep
it. There was not the smallest quarrel on that score. But it was not in
the least all right for one man to live with another, pretending to
believe in him, when in reality he was doubting and questioning him at
every move. The want of candor involved in his present relations with
Nicolovius continually fretted Queed's conscience.
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