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--"

"Yes?"

"Why do you do this, little woman? Why do you stoop to this--this
trade of yo--of ours? Why sully your hands,--and not only your
hands,--imperil your good name, to say nothing of your liberty----?"