"You are a man of honour, are you not?" asked she; showing her even white teeth, and dimpling her rose-leaf cheeks temptingly.
"Certainly. I hope so."
"Then let me have your soul."
"But that would mean death for me! Do you desire me to die, my love?" And a look of questioning wonder crept into his eyes.
"By no means! I have not been reared by a philosopher for nothing. This crystal ball"—and she held out to him a tiny globe of crystal—"put your lips to it and pawn your soul to its keeping. I will warrant you, it will hold it as safely as I could."
He glanced at the tiny globe distrustfully.
"Are you afraid? Do you wish to withdraw from your word?"
"By no means."
"Then breathe against it, my love." And she held the crystal ball temptingly towards him. "You can imagine it is my lips you are touching," added she, with a light, coquettish laugh, leaning provocatively close to him.
He took the crystal reluctantly, and breathed against it as she wished.