MRS. BARTHWICK. Do you mean that you had another person's purse, and that this man took it too?
BARTHWICK. Tcha! Of course he took it too! A man like that Jones will make the most of it. It'll get into the papers.
MRS. BARTHWICK. I don't understand. What on earth is all the fuss about? [Bending over JACK, and softly.] Jack now, tell me dear! Don't be afraid. What is it? Come!
JACK. Oh, don't Mother!
MRS. BARTHWICK. But don't what, dear?
JACK. It was pure sport. I don't know how I got the thing. Of course I 'd had a bit of a row—I did n't know what I was doing—I was—I Was—well, you know—I suppose I must have pulled the bag out of her hand.
MRS. BARTHWICK. Out of her hand? Whose hand? What bag—whose bag?
JACK. Oh! I don't know—her bag—it belonged to—[in a desperate and rising voice] a woman.
MRS. BARTHWICK. A woman? Oh! Jack! No!
JACK. [Jumping up.] You would have it. I did n't want to tell you. It's not my fault.