Between the Dark and the Daylight. Richard Marsh
and tuum, you insisted on removing it from my custody. The sole reparation you can make is to return it at once--upon the instant."
She observed him with growing amazement--as well she might. She subsided into an armchair.
"May I ask you to inform me from what you're suffering now?"
He was a little disposed towards valetudinarianism, and was apt to imagine himself visited by divers diseases. He winced.
"Agatha, the only thing from which I am suffering at this moment is--is----"
"Yes; is what?"
"A feeling of irritation at my own weakness in allowing myself to be persuaded by you to act in opposition to my better judgment."
"Dear me! You must be ill. That you are ill is shown by the fact that your tie is crooked again. Don't consider my feelings, and pray present yourself in my drawing-room in any condition you choose. But perhaps you will be so good as to let me know if there is any sense in the stuff you have been talking about a bag."
"Agatha, you remember that bag you took from my room?"
"That old brown leather thing?"
"It was made of brown leather--a week or two ago?"
"A week or two? Why, it was months ago."
"My dear Agatha, I do assure you----"
"Please don't let us argue. I tell you it was months ago."
"I told you not to take it----"
"You told me not to take it? Why, you pressed it on me. I didn't care to be seen with such a rubbishing old thing; but you took it off your shelf and said it would do very well. So, to avoid argument, as I generally do, I let you have your way."
"I--I don't want to be rude, but a--a more outrageous series of statements I never heard. I told you distinctly that it wasn't mine."
"You did nothing of the sort. Of course I took it for granted that such a disreputable article, which evidently belonged to a woman, was not your property. But as I had no wish to pry into your private affairs I was careful not to inquire how such a curiosity found its way upon your shelves."
"Agatha, your--your insinuations----"
"I insinuate nothing. I only want to know what this fuss is about. As I wish to dress for dinner, perhaps you'll tell me in a couple of words."
"Agatha, where's that bag?"
"How should I know?"
"Haven't you got it?"
"Got it? Do you suppose I have a museum in which I preserve rubbish of the kind?"
"But--what have you done with it?"
"You might as well ask me what I've done with last year's gloves."
"Agatha--think! More hinges upon this than you have any conception. What did you do with that bag?"
"Since you are so insistent--and I must say, Philip, that your conduct is most peculiar--I will think, or I'll try to. I believe I gave the bag to Jane. Or else to Mrs. Pettigrew's little girl. Or to my needle-woman--to carry home some embroidery she was mending for me; I am most particular about embroidery, especially when its good. Or to the curate's wife, for a jumble sale. Or I might have given it to someone else. Or I might have lost it. Or done something else with it."
"Did you look inside?"
"Of course I did. I must have done. Though I don't remember doing anything of the kind."
"Was there anything in it?"
"Do you mean when you gave it me? If there was I never saw it. Am I going to be accused of felony?"
"Agatha, I believe you have ruined me."
"Ruined you! Philip, what nonsense are you talking? I insist upon your telling me what you mean. What has that wretched old bag, which would have certainly been dear at twopence, to do with either you or me?"
"I will endeavour to explain. I believe that I stood towards that bag in what the law regards as a fiduciary relation. I was responsible for its safety. Its loss will fall on me."
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