Pen stepped from the car. There was no consciousness in the beautiful eyes of the “best woman in the world” that she was aware of the shabby, tan shoes, the cheap, faded and worn skirt, or the man’s sweater and cap.
Pen’s eyes had grown dark and thoughtful.
“Before I go in,” she said turning to Kurt, “you must tell her who I am. Not what you said you were going to tell her, but where you found me and from what you saved me.”
His face flushed.
“My dear little girl,” said the woman quickly, “I don’t care to know—yet. It is enough that Kurt brought you.”
“Mrs. Kingdon,” said Kurt awkwardly but earnestly, “she is a poor girl who needs a friend.”
“We all need a friend some time or other. Come in with me.”
She led her up the steps. On the top one, the girl halted.
“He found me,” she told Mrs. Kingdon, “in the custody of—Bender, for stealing, and he took me away to save me from jail, to bring me up here to the ‘best woman in the world,’ he said, and I made light of what he had done all the way up the trail. And he was so kind to me—me, a pickpocket. I think I should go back—to Bender.”
She spoke with the impetuosity of a child, and turned to go down the steps.