A few weeks earlier Elsie would only have been amused at all this from general lack of amusement, but now it vexed and irritated her. Girl-like she had not the slightest pity on his pain. He was keeping her sorely against her wishes.
"I am served right for treating you as a friend," she said; "I looked upon you as a relation, and thought you understood it; now you are trying to make me unhappy. Bessie will be angry, and tell Grant. Oh, you ought to be ashamed."
"I won't make you any trouble," shivered Tom; "I won't distress you! There—I beg your pardon, Elsie, I am sorry! And you don't—you never can, Elsie, Elsie—"
"No, no, you silly old fellow, of course not! Now be good, and I'll forget all about this folly. Let me go, Tom, I can't stay here any longer—let me go."
Tom still held her hand.
"This is earnest!" he said.
"Yes, yes! Tom, if you don't let me go I'll scream! You are absurd—why, you ought to be put in a straight jacket."
Tom dropped her hand, and stood like a man overpowered by some sudden blow.
Elsie saw only the comical side of the matter, and began to laugh again.
"Don't laugh," he said, passionately; "for mercy's sake don't laugh!"