“Would it not have been more manly, then, when I invited your confidence last night, if you had told me frankly the whole truth?”
Percy’s jaw dropped and he stood gazing at her with a vacant, pitiful expression.
“Then a letter has come this morning,” he said.
“Two letters have come this morning,” she replied, “and I know everything. Stop! What are you going to do?”
“Cut,” he said sulkily. “It is of no use to stay here.”
“Do you think the police would not find you if you went away?”
“Police!” he cried, turning pale.
“Yes. Your employers warned us in the letter that they had not settled yet what they should do since—since—oh, heavens! is it true?—they found out that my brother was a thief.”
“No, no—not a thief, Hazy! ’Pon my soul, I only borrowed the money. I meant to pay back every shilling. I made sure that I should win, and I never meant to steal.”
“You committed theft of the worst kind, Percy. A common thief breaks in and steals; he has not been trusted with that which he takes. You had been; and you not only broke your trust but stooped to the basest ingratitude as well.”