“Oh, you needn’t worry about that,” Laura said brightly. “I’m not really married. I only said that because I thought it would make you readier to help me. Look, there’s no mark even of a wedding-ring.” She extended her left hand and Mr. Priestley, in order to examine it the better, held its slim fingers in his. When he put it down on the bed again he continued to hold its slim fingers. Mr. Priestley was a very absent-minded man. But he was not a man of the world. A man of the world would instantly have said all the pretty things which this new piece of information should require. Mr. Priestley only said, rather blankly; “But don’t you see, that’s almost worse. You’d be hopelessly compromised. Of course I shall spend the night in the kitchen.” He looked a little wistfully at the sofa near the fire. It was not the most comfortable sofa ever made, but compared with a Windsor chair in the kitchen it was Heaven. “On a hard chair, in a draught?” Laura smiled lazily. Her cheeks were a little flushed, for the honest elderberry wine was hard at work now making the place hot for influenza germs, and her whole body was permeated with a pleasant warmth. She tried to put herself in Mr. Priestley’s place and face a hard chair in a draughty kitchen. “It seems to me I’m compromised quite deeply as it is. After all we’re supposed to be married, you know. By the way, is that the door-key?” She disengaged her fingers from Mr. Priestley’s and extended them invitingly. Mr. Priestley put the key into them. Laura weighed it pensively in her hand. “You’re very conventional, aren’t you?” she asked. Mr. Priestley, who was under the impression that he had just killed one of his fellow-men and was not in the least sorry for it, nodded. “In some circumstances,” he said primly, “one has to be.” “Well,” said Laura, as if arriving at a decision, “I’m not. Never! If the people are all right, the circumstances can take care of themselves; that’s my creed.” With a sudden movement she thrust the key far down inside the bed and showed her empty hand. “Now, go and make yourself as comfy as you can on that sofa with both dressing-gowns and this eiderdown; and if you want to say anything to me, say: ‘It’s your own silly fault, my dear girl!’ Because it is, you know.” Mr. Priestley jumped to his feet and stood for a moment, looking down at the flushed and ever so faintly mocking face. “No,” he said slowly, “I won’t say that. I’ll say: ‘You’re a very dear, sweet girl. But please give me that key.’” Laura shook her head violently. “No! I’ve made up my mind, and I’m not going to alter it. Now, please run along to that sofa, because I want to go to sleep.” Mr. Priestley saw she meant it, and his colour deepened. He turned towards the sofa without a word.