“I suppose it was seeing the owner of it face to face. I’d sunk low enough to steal from some one I couldn’t visualize—but what’s the use? It’s mere hair-splitting. Just let me say that this is my first attempt, and it hasn’t succeeded. I may do better next time if I can get up the nerve.” “Oh, but there won’t be a next time.” “That we shall have to see.” “Suppose”—the mixture of embarrassment and pity made it hard for her to speak—“suppose I said I was sorry for you.” “You don’t have to say it. I see it. It’s something I shall never forget as long as I live.” “Well, since I’m sorry for you, won’t you let me—?” “No,” I interrupted, firmly. “I’m grateful for your pity; I’ll accept that; but I won’t take anything else.” I began moving toward the door. “Since you’re good enough to let me go, I had better be off; but I can’t do it without thanking you.” For the first time she smiled a little. Even in that dim light I could see it was what in normal conditions would be commonly called a generous smile, full, frank, and kindly. Just now it was little more than a quivering of the long scarlet lips. She glanced toward the little heap of things on the desk. “If it comes to that, I have to thank you.” I raised my hand deprecatingly. “Don’t.” I had almost reached the threshold when her words made me turn. “Do you know who I am?” “I think I do,” was all I could reply. “Well, then, why shouldn’t you come back later—in some more usual manner—and let me see if there isn’t something I could do for you?” “Do for me in what way?” “In the way of getting you work—or something.” My heart had leaped up for a minute, but now it fell. Why it should have done either I cannot say, since I could be nothing to her but a fool who had tried to be a thief, and couldn’t, as we say in our common idiom, get away with it. I thanked her again. “But you’ve done a great deal for me as it is,” I added. “I couldn’t ask for more.” Somewhat disconnectedly I continued, “I think you’re the pluckiest girl I ever saw not to have been afraid of me.” “Oh, it wasn’t pluck. I saw at once that you wouldn’t do me any harm.” “How?” “In general. I was surprised. I was excited. In a way I was overcome. But I wasn’t afraid of you. If you’d been a tramp or a colored man or anything like that it would have been different. But one isn’t afraid of a—of a gentleman.” “But I’m not a—” “Well then, a man who has a gentleman’s traditions. You’d better go now,” she whispered, suddenly. “If you want to come back as I’ve suggested—any time to-morrow forenoon—I’d speak to my father—” “Not about this?” I whispered, hurriedly. “No, not about this. This had better be just between ourselves. I shall never say anything to any one about it, and I advise you to do the same.” I had made a low bow, preparatory to getting out, when she held up the scrap of paper she had crumpled in her hand. “Why did you write this?” But I got out of the room without giving a reply.