"Certainly not," said Celia, with decision. "You are not fit to be trusted with it."
"Oh, am I not?" he said, sarcastically.
"You know you are not. What were you doing with it, what were you going to do with it, when I came in?" she demanded.
"What an unnecessary question," he retorted. "I was going to shoot myself, of course."
"Exactly. That is why I am taking it away from you."
"You are very clever," he said, with an attempt at sarcasm. "I can go out and buy another. No, I can't"—he laughed rather quaveringly—"I haven't the coin. Put that revolver down, young lady, and leave me alone."
"I shall do nothing of the kind," said Celia, her eyes bright, her lips drawn straight. "I mean, that I am going to take the revolver. And I am not sure that I ought to leave you alone. If I do, will you promise me——"
"That I won't try to kill myself in some other way? I will promise you nothing of the sort; you don't know what you are asking. But, as I said before, I don't want to detain you. In fact, if you knew—what I am——" his voice faltered for a moment—"you would clear out without any urging on my part."
There was a pause, then: "What are you?" asked Celia, in a low voice.
"I am a forger," he replied, after another pause.