“_No!_” she moaned again, but without hope. Mr. Priestley set his teeth. It was a heartrending cry and it did make him feel a brute not to be able to heed it, but really——! He carried her swiftly to the wash-stand, set her on her feet and, keeping a wary grip on her wrist, reached for the soap. “Now then!” he said triumphantly, dipping it in the warm water and doing his best to produce a serviceable lather with one hand. Laura opened her eyes and watched him dazedly. He seemed to be washing one hand in the hot-water can. It was probably very devilish, but its exact purpose escaped her for the moment. He began to soap her own inert hand. And then, in a series of blinding flashes, Laura’s mind was illuminated. Her first coherent thought was overwhelming relief. Her next an equally overwhelming, but less reasonable, anger. She stamped her foot. “Is this what you were meaning all the time?” she asked wrathfully. From her tone one might have deduced that she was suffering a fearful disappointment, yet this was not really the case. “Of course,” said Mr. Priestley in surprise, lathering vigorously. “Then why on earth didn’t you say so?” “But I did! Half a dozen times.” “You didn’t!” “Didn’t I?” Mr. Priestley’s surprise was genuine enough, but he was much more interested at the moment in his experiment with the soap. “But surely I told you downstairs? What else do you imagine I wanted this bedroom for?” Laura brushed away the remnants of her tears with an indignant hand. It is seldom given to mortal man, and still less to mortal woman, to feel quite so incredibly foolish as Laura did at that moment. She did not appear to appreciate the privilege conferred upon her. “_I_ didn’t know what you wanted it for,” she said, with feeble pettishness. “But didn’t you understand what I was wanting you to come and do?” asked Mr. Priestley, but a little absently, for he really was extraordinarily interested in that soap. One might say that at that moment Mr. Priestley’s heart was in his soap. “What did you think I wanted, then?” “Something else,” said Laura curtly, looking out of the window and feeling that she would begin to scream very loudly if Mr. Priestley asked her one single more awkward question on this topic. Fortunately her powers of self-control were not to be put to such a drastic test. “There!” said Mr. Priestley, with mingled satisfaction and anxiety. “I don’t think I can get it any more soapy than that. Now, I’m going to pull. I’m afraid it may hurt you.” “Hurt away!” said Laura grimly. She felt as if it was quite time that somebody hurt her—as indeed it was. Mr. Priestley proceeded to gratify her wishes. “Oh!” squeaked Laura, hastily changing her mind. “Hold on!” exhorted Mr. Priestley through set teeth. “It’s nearly off!” He resumed his efforts. There were two more squeaks, and many others nobly repressed, and then two sighs of triumph.