Some alien, inexplicable force seemed to battle with his nature. His lips quivered and then compressed as if in a mighty resolution.
A moment later she slid from the window seat to the floor.
“It is late; good night!” she said quietly.
He rose, took her hand in his and said earnestly:
“Good night, Pen. I wish—”
Again he stopped abruptly.
“I know what you wish,” she said in a matter of fact way; “you are wishing that I had never been—a thief.”
The color flooded his face; embarrassment, longing and regret struggled visibly for mastery.
“Good night,” she repeated, as she quickly sped from the room, leaving him speechless.
Upstairs in her room she stood by the window.