"I feel like a burglar," she said.
"And I _am_ a forger," he replied.
"Won't take you long, will it ?" "No." The work was soon completed.

The scorched letters were thrown into the fire.

"She will never know the difference," said Ellen.

"It is a sin to deceive her, but then, following the burglary, deception is a kindness; and there can't be so very much wickedness in a sin that keeps one from being unhappy." "Or keeps one from being discovered," he suggested.

She laughed, not mirthfully, but with an attempt at self-consolation.