"Oh, do hurry up," implored the girl, fearful lest some other of the guests should enter the room before she recovered her belongings.
"I was not made in a hurry," replied Moore. "The more haste the less speed, so I 'll take my time in my investigations."
The next thing he took from the pocket was a little black and white sketch of himself which had been drawn at a supper party the week before by no less distinguished a gentleman than Samuel Rogers, the banker poet.
"My picture!" he exclaimed in surprise. "How did you get this, Bessie?"
"If you must know, Mr. Rogers threw it away and I picked it up," she replied, displaying as much regard for the truth as any of her sex would be likely to under the same circumstances.
"I 'm honored, Mistress Dyke," observed Moore, bowing to the portière with formal grace and politeness. "You show much taste in your selection of works of art."
Proceeding with his search, Moore now brought to light the handkerchief, which he promptly confiscated.
"Mistress Dyke," he said, at the same time tucking away the handkerchief in his breast pocket, "I am now convinced that this is your property."
"Then give it to me at once," she directed.
"Not yet," said Moore. "If I remember correctly, I made a statement to you concerning an apology which I thought should be forthcoming to me. Well, I have n't received it as yet."