“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.