Fortunately her powers of self-control were not to be put to such a drastic test. “There!” said Mr. Priestley, with mingled satisfaction and anxiety. “I don’t think I can get it any more soapy than that. Now, I’m going to pull. I’m afraid it may hurt you.”
“Hurt away!” said Laura grimly. She felt as if it was quite time that somebody hurt her—as indeed it was.
Mr. Priestley proceeded to gratify her wishes.
“Oh!” squeaked Laura, hastily changing her mind.
“Hold on!” exhorted Mr. Priestley through set teeth. “It’s nearly off!” He resumed his efforts.
There were two more squeaks, and many others nobly repressed, and then two sighs of triumph.
“Well played, by Jove!” said Mr. Priestley, with the wondering admiration of every male for a female who can stand up to pain without flinching.
“Thank God!” said Laura, tears of agony in her eyes. “And thank you, Mr. Mullins, too,” she added. It has already been mentioned that Laura was a just girl. So she was, quite often.
As if with a common understanding they dropped into chairs and relaxed. The next moment, with a more uncommon understanding, they got up simultaneously, drew their respective chairs as close as possible to the fire and relaxed again.
“And now,” said Mr. Priestley, beaming at his companion with benevolent triumph through his glasses, “now what are we going to do?” It was not the least of Mr. Priestley’s achievements that evening that through all its hectic developments he had managed to keep his glasses intact upon the bridge of his nose, even when travelling at forty-five miles an hour in the teeth of a miniature blizzard.