Her eyes took on a baby stare of innocent incredulity as she watched him.
“I never met a burglar before,” she assured him, “and I can't begin to tell you how interested I am.”
“I'm not a burglar, Miss. Not a real one,” he hastened to add as she looked her amused unbelief. “It looks like it, me being here in your house. But it's the first time I ever tackled such a job. I needed the money bad. Besides, I kind of look on it like collecting what's coming to me.”
“I don't understand,” she smiled encouragingly. “You came here to rob, and to rob is to take what is not yours.”
“Yes, and no, in this here particular case. But I reckon I'd better be going now.”
He started for the door of the dining-room, but she interposed, and a very beautiful obstacle she made of herself. His left hand went out as if to grip her, then hesitated. He was patently awed by her soft womanhood.
“There!” she cried triumphantly. “I knew you wouldn't.”
The man was embarrassed.
“I ain't never manhandled a woman yet,” he explained, “and it don't come easy. But I sure will, if you set to screaming.”
“Won't you stay a few minutes and talk?” she urged. “I'm so interested. I should like to hear you explain how burglary is collecting what is coming to you.”