"You won't? If you do not behave I will have to punish you."
"You punish me?" she repeated scornfully. "You forget yourself, Mr. Moore."
"That is because when I am near you I can think of no one else. If you don't look around and bestow on me one of your sweetest smiles I shall not permit you to leave the room."
"I 'll go the moment I am ready."
"Oh, no you won't, if I decide to make you my prisoner," he predicted. "Your last chance, my dear young lady; will you do as I ask?"
"Not I, Mr. Moore," she answered, keeping her face resolutely turned from him. This was what he desired, for without attracting her attention he lifted the hem of her dress, and putting perhaps a foot of the skirt in one of the drawers of the desk, shoved it shut and locked it, thus effectually tethering her. She heard the click of the key, but not suspecting the cause of the noise, continued her inspection of vacancy, while Moore, bubbling over with his merry triumph, retired to the opposite side of the room.
"You are locked up now, Bessie," he announced with a chuckle. "If you will cast your eye to the left you will see how securely I hold you."
Bessie, her curiosity aroused by the satisfaction perceptible in the poet's voice, rose, intending to investigate the state of affairs from the centre of the room. A sudden tug at her dress which nearly tilted her over backwards on her little high heels brought her to an astonished standstill, and turning, she perceived the result of Moore's scheming.
"How dare you?" she cried, this time really angry.
"I hardly know myself," he answered gayly. "I think it must be the courage of despair."