"For what?" she demanded quickly, head up and eyes light.
"For insisting. It wasn't—ah—courteous. I'm sorry."
It was her turn now to wonder; delicacy of perception such as this is not ordinarily looked for in the person of a burglar. With a laugh and a gibe she tried to pass off her astonishment.
"The thief apologizes to the thief?"
"Unkind!"
Briefly hesitant, with an impulsive gesture she flung out a generous hand.
"You're right; I was unkind. Forgive me. Won't you shake hands? I … I do want to be a good comrade, since it has pleased Fate to throw us together like this, so—so oddly." Her tone was almost plaintive; unquestionably it was appealing.
Maitland was curiously moved by the touch of the slim, cool fingers that lay in his palm. Not unpleasantly. He frowned in perplexity, unable to analyze the sensation.
"You're not angry?" she asked.
"No—but—but—"