“No. It was nothing, Penelope. Just a small cut. I swear it. Why, an hour later he was chasing us in a car. I am sure that he was not hurt.”

Penelope released her arm. “That is all right, then,” she said steadily. “There is only one thing for you to do. At the first chance you must give yourself up. I don’t know how it is to be managed, but you must do it.”

The other woman recoiled from her, her face showing her emotion. “No,” she declared. “I should be mad to do a thing like that. You are mad to suggest it.”

“And if you don’t,” cried Penelope, something of her restraint falling from her, “in what kind of a position will you be? You will be a hunted woman⁠—the slave of every whim and caprice of this man, Larry Hughes. Do you think that you will not be caught sooner or later, and what construction will be put on your flight? Even if the police do not get you, what kind of a life will be yours? Do you believe that Larry Hughes will save you at any risk to himself? Much better to face it all out now than put yourself farther in the wrong.”