“Well, of twenty evils, choose the best-looking.”
He gave a low chuckle.
“Come along, where we can be private,” said he, and put a hand on me; but I started back, affecting an agony of shame.
“O! what have I said—what promised? Let me go. Don’t think any more of it.”
“Won’t I?” he said; and added threateningly: “You’ve given your promise, remember.”
I looked about me, and again upon my twined fingers.
“To-night, then, at—at ten o’clock.”
“Where?”
“In the workshop.”
“You can get out?”