“Darling,” said Laura, “you don’t go down to change your clothes till you have drunk it.”
There was no real reason why Mr. Priestley should not have said loudly: “Bosh!” and walked out of the room. But he didn’t. He drank up his elderberry wine.
Then he walked sadly to the door. Once he had a Palate….
“Half a minute, sir,” remarked the landlady. “Your good lady hasn’t drunk up hers yet.”
Mr. Priestley stopped short in his tracks.
“If I were you, sir,” observed the landlady with much enjoyment, “I should make her drink it. You’ll have her on your hands for a week with the influenza if you don’t, you mark my words.”
“Darling,” said Mr. Priestley in italics, advancing towards his adopted wife, “drink up your wine!”
“I don’t think I will, really,” Laura murmured, backing uneasily, “I—I’ve had enough.”
“I’m not going out of this room till you do,” said Mr. Priestley with triumph.
The battle of wills lasted only two minutes, but two minutes can seem a very long time. At the end of it, with a slightly dazed look in her eyes, Laura drank up her elderberry wine. Laura had not had very much practice in doing what she was told, and it did not come easily to her.