"You will wait outside," said Maitland, "until I come out or—or send somebody for you to take wherever directed. Oh, that's all right—not another word!"
The door closed behind the overwhelmed nighthawk, and the latch clicked loudly. For a space Maitland stood in the hallway, troubled, apprehensive, heart strangely oppressed, vision clouded by the memory of the girl as he had seen her only a few minutes since: as she had stood beneath the chandelier, after acting upon her primary clear-headed impulse to give her rescuer the aid of the light.
He seemed to recall very clearly her slight figure, swaying, a-quiver with fright and solicitude,—care for him!—her face, sensitive and sweet beneath its ruddy crown of hair, that of a child waking from evil dreams, her eyes seeking his with their dumb message of appeal and of…. He dared not name what else.
Forlorn, pitiful, little figure! Odd it seemed that he should fear to face her again, alone, that he should linger reluctant to cross the threshold of his study, mistrustful and afraid alike of himself and of her—a thief.
For what should he say to her, other than the words that voiced the hunger of his heart? Yet if he spoke … words such as those to—to a thief … what would be the end of it all?
What did it matter? Surely he, who knew the world wherein he lived and moved and had his being, knew bitter well the worth of its verdicts. The world might go hang, for all he cared. At least his life was his own, whether to make or to mar, and he had not to answer for it to any power this side of the gates of darkness. And if by any act of his the world should be given a man and a woman in exchange for a thief and an idler, perhaps in the final reckoning his life might not be accounted altogether wasted….
He set back his shoulders and inspired deeply, eyes lightening; and stepped into the study, resolved. "Miss—" he called huskily; and stopped, reminded that not yet did he even know her name.
"It is safe now," he amended, more clearly and steadily, "to come out, if you will."
He heard no response. The long gleaming folds of the portières hung motionless. Still, a sharp and staccato clatter of hoofs that had risen in the street, might have drowned her voice.
"If you please—?" he said again, loudly.