'The young lady, after excusing herself for doing what she termed an unconventional thing in addressing me, asked at once after you.'
'After me? But—go on.'
'She spoke of you as "the person" I was talking with on the day when her friend lost her bag and she tried to reclaim it, and when I disclaimed all knowledge of you, she told me how "cavalierly"—that is also her word—you refused to yield up the bag, and how anxiously her friend was hoping to secure that bag—even yet.'
'Ah! Indeed!'
'You will pardon me,' he went on, not heeding my interjection, and speaking with marked courtesy, 'but I almost fear you have mistaken this young lady.'
'Why?'
'Because she not only gave me the name of the owner of the bag, but she assured me that the lady recognised me in passing, a thing which I regret, and she called me by my name.'
Here was a coil indeed. My head was a nest of queer thoughts and suspicions, but I kept to the subject by asking:
'And may I ask how you replied to all this?'
'In the only way I could. You were a stranger, who was anxious, I felt sure, to restore the bag to its owner. You had assured me of this much. As to your address, I could not give it, and your name I did not know; but I added the promise that should I chance to meet you, as I might, I would ask you to send the bag to the lady's address.'