“Why ever not?” asked Mr. Priestley in astonishment.
There was an uneasy pause.
“You’re—you’re stronger than me, of course,” Laura pleaded in her most heartrending tones. Laura had often employed these useful tones with malicious intent; now she was using them in deadly earnest. “You’re—you’re stronger than me, and you know I can’t very well cry for help. You know I’m in your power, if you do use force, but——” Her voice, trembling with real terror, died away. She moistened her dry lips.
Mr. Priestley began to get annoyed. Here he was, anchored to a chair, when he wanted to be at that wash-stand. What on earth had the wretched girl got into her head now? It was the last hope. Did she want to go on wearing these damnable handcuffs?
“I shall certainly use force,” he said crossly, “if you persist in being so unreasonable.”
“I’m not unreasonable!” Laura cried, her fear giving way to indignation before this distorted view.
“Indeed you are,” said Mr. Priestley with legitimate irritation. “Extremely unreasonable. What’s the point? Besides, to put the matter on personal grounds, I’ve surely done enough for you to enable you to do this little thing for me.”
“Oh!” Laura gasped. “Little thing!”
“Besides,” said Mr. Priestley quite angrily, “it may not even be successful.”
“I’ll see that it isn’t!” said Laura grimly, when she had recovered her breath.