“Are you a kleptomaniac?”
“I should think not! I never take anything unless it is of some value or use.”
“Didn’t it occur to you that you might be suspected and caught with the goods?”
“No; I thought I knew Hebby and that he was too much of a good fellow to report a loss at first blink. Sort of banal, you know. You don’t know much of human nature to suppose a thief could undergo such a sudden reformation. There are no modern miracles like that. Marta is the only one I knew who could change. But she isn’t a born thief. I really was trying to be good; but I suppose I will slip and fall countless times—like a drunkard.”
“This is the first time since you came here?”
“Absolutely; but to be honest, thieves don’t always lie—I’ve not been so strongly tempted before.”
“And you could do it then—right after—”
“After you had done me the great and regretted honor? Well, I didn’t yield all at once. I walked right past it with the ‘Get thee behind me’ pose and closed my door and went to the window and—looked up at the hills and then—something stronger than all my resolutions carried me back to look at it once more. It was all off.”
Anger and something else battled in his face.
“Why,” she asked curiously, “did you suspect Marta instead of me?”