"I cannot stand the responsibility any longer," she said. "I will send a cablegram to David this very day. What will he think of me? Of course he will never forgive me. In the meantime, William, have you anything to propose about little Iris?"
"Yes," answered Mr. Dolman. "There may not be much in my suggestion; but the fact is, I feel dreadfully restless, sitting here day after day, doing nothing."
"William, what do you mean?" answered his wife. "Sitting here day after day, doing nothing! Have you not your parish to attend to?"
"Oh, I don't mean that—you attend to the parish, my love."
"Thank you, William, for acknowledging that fact at last."
"I frankly acknowledge it. Then, too, we have no sick poor in the parish, and everything is really in a prosperous condition; but the fact is, I hate sitting down to my comfortable meals, and lying down at night on my comfortable bed, not knowing in what part of the world dear, spirited little Diana may be. I don't think half so much about the boy as little Diana."
"You are like all the rest of your sex, William; you are taken by a child because it happens to be a girl and has a pair of black eyes. For my part, I never could bear little Diana."
"Please don't say that now."
"Oh, it is not that I am not sorry for her; of course, I am dreadfully sorry, and I acknowledge—I do acknowledge—that I have been more or less to blame. But now, please, come to the point—you always were such a man for going round and round a subject."
"Well, then," said Mr. Dolman, "this is it. The doctor wishes Iris to be roused. Let me take both her and Apollo, and let us begin to look for the lost children."