"You're ashamed of me! Jo wouldn't ask Marta to go far away. Your's is a little love--a love that doesn't dare venture on an uncharted sea." "Pen," he said tensely, "I tell you that I love you! Don't you understand?" He put his arm about her--bent down. There was a quiet reproach in her star-like eyes as she drew away. "Pen, will you be my wife?" She put her hand to her forehead with an odd little motion. Her paleness became a pallor. "You ask me that--you would--" "Yes, I would. I did fight it. I didn't really know you until to-night. You've been unreadable. Now I feel you are your real self. Not the daredevil who defied me and mocked me. Not the little meek mouse on the hearth. I love the woman you are to-night." "Am I like her--the best woman in the world?" she whispered. "Yes," he cried triumphantly. "And you will grow more and more like her--the type of woman I want you to be. Don't you care for me--a little, Pen?" Again his arm was about her. She turned to meet his eyes, deep-set--intense--burning. "Kurt--I--" A little wave of doubt, of contrition, stole over her. "I don't love you," she said uncomfortably. "Don't you want to love me, Pen?" "No!" She rose impulsively, and there were tears in her eyes, though there was a half wistful smile on her lips, as she passed him swiftly and fled toward the stairway. He followed. "You mustn't leave me, this way. Pen--" For a shining second she leaned against him. "I must. I can't tell you now. I'll think it over. You surely want me to be honest with you!" In the upper hall she passed the open door of Hebler's room. There were no inner lights, but the shafts of a moonbeam shone straight upon an article lying on a small table near the door, finding response in glimmering gleams. She stopped, electrified. "Oh!" Fascinated by the sparkle, she lingered for a moment, and then went quickly to her room and straight to the window that looked on the moonlit hills. She stayed there awhile, her hands clenched, thinking intensely and rapidly--of Larry soaring like an eagle, proud and secure in his conquering of the air--of Marta's sudden severance from the habit of a lifetime--of Jo's faith in her--of Kurt wrestling with his conflict between love and conventions. "Does he care, really, as much as he thinks he does," she wondered, "or is it just the lure of--propinquity? How shall I find out? Oh, there is too much on my mind! How careless and how like Hebby to leave his priceless ring about. What would he think if he knew the thief was next door to it?" She left the window and went to the door. * * * * * The ring still sent forth shafts of sparkles. A figure came stealthily out into the hall, paused near the open door. A hand reached quickly out and closed over the ring. CHAPTER XII "Have we a new maid, Kurt?" asked Kingdon at the breakfast table next morning. "I had a glimpse of a pretty little girl talking to Agatha."