"I have no right to make love to you," cried the doctor, rising, "but I do. Pschutt"--he snapped his fingers--"what care I for that English pig, your husband? As to that young fool who sat beside you last night----"
Lady Jim clapped her hands, and jumped up, laughing. "Oh," she cried, with great enjoyment, "so it was Mr. Askew's attentions that made you lose your head?"
"But not my heart. I lost that months ago, when I first met you. Ah, you cruel woman, have I not worshipped and adored you these many days? Do I not ache here?" he struck his breast passionately. "Have you not made my life miserable with your looks and smiles and coldness and beauty?" He seized her hands roughly. "I love you so much that I--even I, Constantine Demetrius--could kill you--kill you."
She released herself with a cold laugh. "That sounds as though you were in earnest. But if I could return your love----"
"Ah!" he made a step towards her, trembling and breathing hard.
"One moment." She waved him back, and retreated herself to the window. "Supposing I could love you--what then?"
"I would--I would----" He flung out his hands with a sob. "What is your price?" he cried savagely.
"How crudely you put things!" said Lady Jim, coolly. "My price is your services, to be given blindly, and without question."
"And my reward?"
"Marriage with me."