Weak from the effects of the chloroform, his struggles were futile. He would have struck her had there been a weapon handy.
"I'll die before I'll marry you, Elinor Crouch," he shouted, freeing himself at last.
"We'll see about that," she said, standing off to survey him the better. "I'll give you until tomorrow night to submit to my demands, peaceably and sensibly. Then, if you are still obdurate, we'll see what starvation will do to—"
"You wouldn't starve me, you wretch," he cried in horror.
"It's a most efficacious way of bringing a man to terms," said Miss Crouch, fixing him with glittering eyes.
"By Jove," said he, shaking his head in despair, "I knew we'd come to this sort of thing if we passed that infernal law giving you women the upper hand of us."
"We only ask for equal rights, my friend," she said. "This is the sort of thing you men used to do and no one made a fuss about it. Now it's our turn to apply the whip."
"I'm blessed if I'll vote for another woman, if I live to be a million," he growled.
"Oh, yes, you will. You'll vote just as your wife tells you to vote, and there's the end to that. But, I can't stand here discussing politics with you. I give you until tomorrow night to think it over. A justice of the peace will be here to perform the ceremony. You know I love you. You know I'll make you a good wife—a devoted, adoring wife. I am fair to look upon. I am rich, I am of good family. Half the men in the town would give their boots to be in yours. You have but to say the word and we set sail this week on my yacht for a honeymoon trip to the ends of the earth. Everything that love and money can procure for you shall be—"
"Stop! I will hear no more. Leave the room! No! Wait! Where am I?"