"Oh, you're caught! You are caught!" cried the girl, distressedly. "Oh, please don't hurt yourself tugging that way—you can't do it!"
Her eyes, full of concern and sympathy, met his for a second; then, suddenly, she broke into laughter.
"Why, confound the thing!" said Anthony, in pained surprise, as he struggled and twisted. "How does it open?"
"It DOESN'T!" choked Miss Mix, her mirth quite beyond control, as she gave various futile little tugs and twitches at the trap. "That's the trouble! The key never has had the slightest effect. Oh, I will NOT laugh this way!" she upbraided herself sternly. "Bu—bu—but you did look so—" She abruptly turned her back upon him for a moment, facing him again with perfect calm, although with lashes still wet, and suspicious little dimples about her mouth. "Now, I'll get you out of it immediately," she assured him gravely; "and meanwhile I can't tell you how sorry I am that—just sit on this box, you'll be more comfortable. I'll run and telephone a plumber, or some one." She paused in the doorway. "But I don't know your name?"
"Appropriately enough, it's Fox," said he, briefly; "Anthony Fox."
Miss Mix gasped, opened her mouth, shut it without speaking, and gasped again. Then she sat down heavily on a box.
"Of New York—I see!" said she, but more as if speaking to herself than to him. "Tony's father; he's written to you, and you've come all the way from New York to break it off. I see!" Desperation seemed to seize her. "Oh, my heavenly day!" she ejaculated. "Why didn't I think of this? This serves me right, you know," she said seriously, bringing her attention to bear fully upon Anthony; "but let me tell you, Mr. Fox, that this is about the worst thing you could have done!"
"The worst!" said Anthony, dully.
He felt utterly stupefied.
"Absolutely," said she, calmly. "You know you only hasten a thing like this by making an out-and-out fight of it. That's no way to stop it!"