In the clattering hansom, steadying herself with a hand against the
window-frame, to keep from being thrown against the speechless man
beside her, the girl waited. And since Maitland in confusion at the
moment found no words, from this eloquent silence she drew an inference
unjustified, such as lovers are prone to draw, the world over, and one
that lent a pathetic color to her thoughts, and chilled a little her
mood. She had been too sure....
But better to have it over with at once, rather than permit it to
remain for ever a wall of constraint between them. He must not be
permitted to think that she would dream of taking him upon his generous
word.
"It was very kind of you," she said in a steady, small voice, "to
pretend that we--what you did pretend, in order to save me from being
held as a witness. At least, I presume that is why you did it? "--with
a note of uncertainty.
"It is unnecessary that you should be drawn into the affair," he
replied, with some resumption of his self-possession. "It isn't as if
you were--"
"A thief?" she supplied as he hesitated.
"A thief," he assented gravely.
"But I--I am," with a break in her voice.
"But you are not," he asserted almost fiercely. And, "Dear," he said
boldly, "don't you suppose I _know?_"
"I ... what do you know?"
"That you brought back the jewels, for one minor thing. I found them
almost as soon as you had left. And then I knew ... knew that you cared
enough to get them from this fellow Anisty and bring them back to me,
knew that I cared enough to search the world from end to end until I
found you, that you might wear them--if you would."
But she had drawn away, had averted her face; and he might not see it;
and she shivered slightly, staring out of the window at the passing
lights. He saw, and perforce paused.
"You--you don't understand," she told him in a rush. "You give me
credit beyond my due. I didn't break into your flat again, to-night, in
order to return the jewels--at least, not for that alone."
"But you did bring back the jewels?"
She nodded.
"Then doesn't that prove what I claim, prove that you've cleared
yourself--?"
"No," she told him firmly, with the firmness of despair; "it does not.
Because I did not come for that only. I came with another purpose,--to
steal, as well as to make restitution. And I ... I stole."
There was a moment's silence, on his part incredulous. "I don't know
what you mean. What did you steal? Where is it?"
"I have lost it--"
"Was it in your hand-bag?"
"You found that?"
"You dropped it in the trunk-closet. I found it there. There is
something of mine in it?"
Dumb with misery, she nodded; and after a little, "You didn't look, of
course."
"I had no right," he said shortly.
"Other men wo-would have thought they had the right. I th-think you
had, the circumstances considered. At all events," steadying her voice,
"I say you have, now. I give you that right. Please go and investigate
that hand-bag, Mr. Maitland. I wish you to."
He turned and stared at her curiously. "I don't know what to think," he
said. "I can not believe--"
"You mu-must believe. I have no right to profit by your disbelief....
Dear Mr. Maitland, you have been kind to me, very kind to me; do me
this last kindness, if you will."
The young face turned to him was gravely and perilously sweet; very
nearly he forgot all else. But that she would not have.
"Do this for me.... What you will find will explain everything. You
will understand. Perhaps"--timidly--"perhaps you may even find it in
your heart to forgive, when you understand.... If you should, my
card-case is in the bag, and ...." She faltered, biting her lip cruelly
to steady a voice quivering with restrained sobs. "Please, please go at
once, and--and see for yourself!" she implored him passionately.
Of a sudden he found himself resolved. Indeed, he fancied that it were
dangerous to oppose her; she was overwrought, on the verge of losing
her command of self. She wished this thing, and though with all his
soul he hated it, he would do as she desired.
"Very well," he assented quietly. "Shall I stop the cab now?"
"Please."
He tapped on the roof of the hansom and told the cabby to draw in at
the next corner. Thus he was put down not far from his home,--below the
Thirty-third Street grade.
Neither spoke as he alighted, and she believed that he was leaving her
in displeasure and abhorrence; but he had only stepped behind the cab
for a moment to speak to the driver. In a moment he was back, standing
by the step with one hand on the apron and staring in very earnestly
and soberly at the shadowed sweetness of her pallid face, that gleamed
in the gloom there like some pale, shy, sad flower.
Could there be evil combined with such sheer loveliness, with features
that in every line bodied forth the purity of the spirit that abode
within? In the soul of him he could not believe that a thief's nature
fed canker-like at the heart of a woman so divinely, naively dear and
desirable. And ... he would not.
"Won't you let me go?"
"Just a minute. I ... I should like to.... If I find that you have done
nothing so very dreadful." he laughed uneasily, "do you wish to know?"
"You know I do." She could not help saying that, letting him see that
far into her heart. "You spoke of my calling, I believe. That means
to-morrow afternoon, at the earliest. May I not call you up on the
telephone?"
"The number is in the book," she said in a tremulous voice.
"And your name in the card-case?"
"Yes."
"And if I should call in half an hour--?"
"O, I shall not sleep until I know!... Good night!"
"Good night!... Drive on, cabby."
He stood, smiling queerly, until the hansom, climbing the Park Avenue
hill, vanished over its shoulder. Then swung about and with an eager
step retraced his way to his rooms, very confident that God was in His
Heaven and all well with the world.