"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."

Meanwhile the girl had made several unsuccessful attempts to withdraw her dress from the closed drawer, and, abandoning the effort, turned in maidenly fury upon her captor.

"You wretch!"

"You are locked in, Bessie, dear."

"Give me the key instantly, Mr. Moore. Do you hear?"

"Yes," replied the poet. "I hear."

"I never saw such a fellow," she began, but he interrupted her blandly.

"There is none like me," he a.s.serted.

"A very fortunate thing for the world, sir."

"But, Bessie, think how many poor young girls there are just pining for such a love as I 've offered you, and who will never have the luxury, since there is only one Moore."

"I did n't know you could be so horrid," she said, her voice trembling with anger.

"Oh, I can be even more so," he answered. "In fact, if I want to, I can be about the horridest person there ever was."

"I believe you," she said sincerely. "Once I did rather like you--"

"Indeed? You concealed it amazingly well."

"--but, now I--I--"

"Well, what now?"

"I fairly hate you," she stormed, tugging impatiently at her skirt.

"I am not surprised to hear you say that, Bessie. What is it the poet says?"

"I abominate all poets."

"Let me see. I have it.

"'What ever's done by one so fair Must ever be most fairly done--'

"Even hating, Bessie."

"I 'll call for help unless you release me instantly," she threatened.

"Do you wish everybody to say you were so saucy to me that I had to lock you up? To the ordinary observer, less appreciative of your beauty, you might appear rather ridiculous tethered here. Think how pleasant that would be for all the other young girls, who are already envious of your superior attractions."

This supposition was altogether too likely to prove true for Bessie to force matters as she had announced she intended doing, so she abandoned all idea of outside a.s.sistance. Having failed in intimidation she, woman-like, resorted to cajolery.

"Please give me the key, Tom," she said in her sweetest tone.

"I 'll trade with you, Bessie. I 'll give you the key of the desk for a lock of your hair."

"Very well," she answered, much relieved at the insignificance of the ransom demanded.

"I want that little curl to the left of your forehead just in front of your ear," he continued, cunningly selecting a ringlet that could not be shorn without utterly spoiling the girl's appearance indefinitely.

"I can't give you that one," she said, indignantly.

"Oh, very well, then. You shall enjoy solitary confinement for the next five minutes. When that time has expired, I will return and afford you the opportunity of a.s.suring me how much you regret all the cross and inconsiderate things you have said to-night."

"I 'll _never_ do that," she cried.

"Usually," a.s.serted Moore, "a girl's _never_ means _to-morrow_."

"This instance is an exception."

"True, Bessie, for this time it means five minutes. Behold the key to the problem."

With a teasing gesture Moore held up the bit of bra.s.s, the possession of which had made the girl's punishment possible.

"If you go," said the girl, firmly and slowly, "it means we shall never be friends again."

"Pooh!" observed the poet with an indifference most insulting, "you do not frighten me in the least, my dear. I do not wish to be your friend."

So saying, he deposited the key in his pocket and walked toward the door with a self-satisfied swagger.

Bessie, driven to desperation, was about to call to him not to go, hoping he would propose some other terms of settlement, when he took his handkerchief out of his pocket and waved it at her before stepping out of the room. She smothered a little cry of delight and waited impatiently for his steps to die away as he walked toward the farther door of the apartment adjacent. Moore had carelessly drawn the key out of his pocket with his handkerchief, and it had dropped noiselessly upon the floor, the sound of its fall deadened by the soft carpet.