"It wasn't bravery," she denied after a moment's reflection. "It was--I can't tell you just what it was." "It made me bless the fate that led me to you that day." "Then," she said lightly, but coloring confusedly, "I am glad I was able to do it--to repay you and Mrs. Kingdon in part. But where have you been all day?" "I have been down in the farthest field." "Working?" "Yes; and thinking. Thinking of you--and what you did." "Where did you have dinner?" "I have had none. I am only just aware that I would like some. I came through the kitchen on my way in, but the cook didn't seem to be about." "They are having some sort of entertainment in the mess hall." "I am glad you didn't go," he said impetuously. "I thought you would rather I didn't go," she replied docilely. "I will try to find you something to eat. Will you come and help me? Cook says you are a champion coffee maker." They went through the kitchen into a smaller room. "Betty calls this the 'kitchen yet!' But can you cook?" said Kurt. "I am glad I won't be called upon to prove it. The larder's well larded, and I will set this little table while you make the coffee." By the time the coffee was made, she had set forth an inviting little supper. She sat opposite him and poured the coffee. It seemed to him some way that it was the coziest meal he had eaten since his home days--the early home days before his mother died and he had gone to the prunish aunt. "We must leave things as we found them," she told him when they could no longer make excuse for lingering. "I feel in a very domestic mood," he said, as he wiped the few dishes. "Do you know I have a very hearthy feeling myself. I know why a cat purrs. Everything is shipshape now. I'll say good night, and--" "Come back to the fire," he entreated. "I want to smoke." Back in the library Pen made herself comfortable on one of the window seats, pulling up the shade to let the moonlight stream in. He followed and sat beside her, watching in silence the pensive, young profile, the straight little features, the parted lips, as she gazed away over the moonlit hills. He felt a strange yearning tenderness. "Pen!" She turned, a sweet, alluring look in her eyes. "Pen!" he said again. "Yes--Kurt." Some alien, inexplicable force seemed to battle with his nature. His lips quivered and then compressed as if in a mighty resolution. A moment later she slid from the window seat to the floor. "It is late; good night!" she said quietly. He rose, took her hand in his and said earnestly: "Good night, Pen. I wish--" Again he stopped abruptly. "I know what you wish," she said in a matter of fact way; "you are wishing that I had never been--a thief." The color flooded his face; embarrassment, longing and regret struggled visibly for mastery. "Good night," she repeated, as she quickly sped from the room, leaving him speechless. Upstairs in her room she stood by the window.