But she could not come within a yard of it even with this help.
"I wish I knew how to swear," she murmured. "I really believe I would. Perhaps I can pick the lock with a hairpin. I have heard of prisoners escaping in that way. Prisoner. Tom's prisoner."
She smiled involuntarily, and then, realizing what she was doing, gave herself a shake of disapproval.
"You should be ashamed of yourself, Bessie Dyke," thought she. "After the way that man has treated you, you should hate him. I will hate him, the horrid thing."
Leaning over, she strove to unlock the drawer with the hairpin but scored a decisive failure, and in consequence again waxed wrathful. The next bright idea that suggested itself to her mind was that she might possibly drag the desk across the floor to where the key lay exasperatingly plain in view, but she found her young strength far too little to even budge the cumbersome old piece of furniture. Then another plan came to her and she gave a little gurgling laugh, half delight, half fear, and began to consider it in detail.
"If I dared, oh, if I dared," she whispered. "I wonder if I can risk it? It would n't take a minute. I will do it, so there."
As she spoke, she fumbled with the fastening of her dress. The next moment it fell from around her waist, and stepping out of the circular heap of millinery surrounding her which it made upon the floor, she was free to go where she pleased.
Flushed with success, and yet frightened beyond measure lest she should be caught by some stray guest in her present incomplete costume, the girl danced laughingly across the floor, keeping out of line with the door for fear some one might enter the next room, and, reaching the key, pounced on it in triumph.
"Now we will see," she laughed. "Oh, you think you are very clever, Mr. Thomas Moore, but I fancy there are one or two others just as sharp as you are."
Hastening back to the desk, she inserted her prize in the lock and endeavored to turn it, but did not succeed in doing so, for it did not fit at all well. She tried again and again, but no better success rewarded her efforts, and slowly it dawned upon her that this was not the required key. She had again fallen victim to the cunning of the young Irishman.