II
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.