“I do not think I understand.”
“I will be more illuminative. A man runs a desperate risk and works very hard to achieve a certain thing. When the victory is in his hands, a woman snatches it from him.”
She gave a gasp of wonder; her great, startled eyes searched his face.
“It was you!” she said. “It was you—last night!”
“And, I think,” smiled he, “that it was also you.”
“You were masked,” she said. “A masked burglar!” There was terror in her manner and voice, and she shrank a little from him. “I did not recognize you; I was too frightened.”
“You were not too frightened to remain and lay a little plan to beat me out,” remarked he, and there was an admiration in his tone that caused her to flush rosily. “But, then,” slowly, “it was, somehow, about the sort of thing I would have expected of you. Miss Anna did not seem at all the girl for such an undertaking, though of course I thought at first it was she.”
“Why of course?” she asked, a little resentfully.
“Because of her manner last night, when I talked with her on the stairs.”
“You talked with her—on the stairs!”