Mrs. Tranmer was just going up to dress for dinner when in burst her brother. Mr. Roland was, as a rule, one of the least excitable of men. His obvious agitation therefore surprised her the more. Her feelings took a characteristic form of expression--to her, an attentive eye to the proprieties of costume was the whole duty of a Christian. "Philip!--what have you done to your tie?" Mr. Roland mechanically put up his hand towards the article referred to; returning question for question. "Agatha, where's that bag?" "Bag? My good man, you're making your tie crookeder!" "Bother the tie!" Mrs. Tranmer started: Philip was so seldom interjectional. "Do you hear me ask where that bag is?" "My dear brother, before you knock me down, will you permit me to suggest that your tie is still in a shocking condition?" He gave her one look--such a look! Then he went to the looking-glass and arranged his tie. Then he turned to her. "Will that do?" "It is better." "Now, will you give me that bag--at once?" "Bag? What bag?" "You know very well what bag I mean--the one you took from my room." "The one I took from your room?" "I told you not to take it. I warned you it wasn't mine. I informed you that I was its involuntary custodian. And yet, in spite of all I could say--of all I could urge, with a woman's lax sense of the difference between _meum_ 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."