“On whom?”
“You.”
“Why?”
A sweet, slow smile turned up the edges of her mouth. “My orders were to keep you here, if once I'd managed to persuade you inside.”
He laughed outright. “You hate having me here, and you'd hate to see me go. Isn't that the way the land lies? I'm more or less in the same fix: I didn't want to come, and I don't want to stay. The fact remains that we're both here. Why not make the best of it? If you'll stop brandishing that weapon, I'll feel much more comfortable. I'm not trying to escape.”
“You might.”
For the first time he dared to shift his position. “Don't be alarmed,” he warned her. “That's easier. I was stiff. Now, if you'll listen, I've a proposal to make. You're treating me like a burglar, which isn't fair. You may know, but I've not the least idea how long you intend to hold me prisoner. I guess you're waiting for some one else to arrive, but that's neither here nor there. Before the third person comes, you may have shot me—of course, by accident. Revolvers go off if you keep them too long pointed. You know nothing about firearms, and I'm beginning to be rather fond of life. Here's what I propose: if you'll put it away, I'll give you my parole not to come within two yards of you or to attempt to escape. If I want my parole back, you shall have a full five minutes' notice.”
“If I thought that I could trust you—”
“You can. Is it a bargain?”
Without answering, placing her weapon on the mantelpiece, she turned her back on him. She seemed waiting to hear him advance further into the room. He did not stir.