She flung up one hand. “Don’t deny it!” she cried. “I gave you a chance a moment ago to say that you’d helped yourself to the reward. You kept still. One hundred wasn’t enough. You wanted two—for hanging about and pilfering.” She stopped, panting with excitement. Presently she continued, crumpling the bills in her fingers: “You thought because I’m a woman that I wouldn’t count the money. You thought you could take advantage. I ought to put you under arrest.”
To that he said nothing.
“But I won’t—I don’t want the notoriety. I’ve got the purse back and all the money I expected. But who are you? You sha’n’t leave this room till you tell me that.”
“As long as you think the way you do, it don’t matter who I am.”
“Ah! So you daren’t tell your name! But I know your face—now that I’ve looked at you well. And I’d know you again anywhere. You’re employed about here. You’re a groom.”
“Yes, I’m a groom,” he answered; “I’m Mr. Philip Rawson’s man.”
Now there was a long silence. He rested his weight on one foot again, and folded his arms, with his hat under one of them. He was pale, and met her look with resentful calm. She stood, swaying a little and swallowing.
“So you work for Mr. Rawson?” she said finally, her voice uneven. “He’s a friend, and I don’t intend that any friend of mine shall keep a man like you in his employ. I shall see him about you. That is all. You may go.”
The young master of Hillcrest was out of his machine and pacing the walk impatiently when Larry came into sight, and he advanced a few steps to meet the man, scarcely able to restrain his eagerness. “Well, Larry,” he began, “was the Princess made happy?”
Larry did not reply at once. But as he paused in the light of the automobile lamps his face looked a deathly white, and his red hair seemed to be standing out straight and stiff, like bristles.