"Now, Miss Hepworth, I am at your service," said Katherine Hunt.
Kitty was still standing. She was a forlorn-looking little figure. Without a word, she now raised her hand, pulled the pin from her hat, and put the hat on the table. Her pretty, curly hair was all tossed and untidy. The pallor in her small face was very marked, the black shadows under her big, dark eyes very apparent. Her sweet lips, too, had a sorrowful droop. But there was a queer, strange determination about the little creature which Katherine Hunt, knowing her story, as to a great extent she did, could not help, in a curious manner, respecting.
"You saw me a little over a week ago at Kenmuir House," continued Kitty. "You saw me on the happiest, the greatest night of my life—the night of my engagement."
"Ah! did Captain Keith propose for you that night?"
"He did; and I accepted him. I hoped he would propose that night. I hoped the dress would do the business. That was why I—" she turned very white, but her words came out bravely—"that was why I stole your purse."
"Sit down, Kitty," said Katherine, "sit down. If you grow any whiter you will faint, and I don't want you to faint on my hands."
"You knew that I stole the purse, and that was why you told me the story of it," said Kitty then.
"I did not know, but I wanted to know. I beg your pardon for my unwarrantable and cruel curiosity."
"Another person would have been still more cruel. And you may know; I don't mind your knowing. I did it because I love him."
"You will forgive me, Miss Hepworth, but it was a strange way of showing your love! Were you so poor—in such distress—that you must take my purse? Did you realize that you might get the driver of the hansom into serious trouble?"