"Mr. Heath?"
"The thief, Hortie! The thief! How can you be so stupid?" ejaculated Sylvia sharply, squeezing his arm.
"I get you now. You must admit, though, this is some story to understand."
"I know it sounds confused, but in reality it is perfectly simple if you'll just pay attention. Well," the girl hurried on, "I cannot stop to explain all the twists and turns but anyway, the sheriff brought the burglar to Wilton and Marcia is broken-hearted."
"Broken-hearted! I should think she'd be thankful to be rid of him."
"But you keep forgetting she's in love with him."
"Well, do you wonder I do? What kind of a woman is your aunt? What sort of a gang have you got in with anyhow?"
"Hush, Hortie! You mustn't talk like that," Sylvia declared. "This affair is too serious. Marcia and the—the—she and Mr. Heath love one another. It is terrible because, you see, he has a wife."
"I should call that a stroke of Providence, myself."
"Horatio, I think you are being very nasty. You are joking about something that is no joking matter."