“To do what?”
“To make me the happiest woman on earth.”
“How?”
“You know how.”
“Yes, I know how,” he said half sleepily, for already she was looking into his eyes.
“I have done much for you, after all, Clara,” he said. “It is not every man who would marry a woman like you. You were a very plain woman before I gave you the means to dress yourself properly. You are not exactly plain now. You remind me of a beautiful snake—your head, as you arrange your hair lately, looks brilliant, but at any moment you may stretch out a forked tongue and strike, strike death—you give that impression. It is not a pleasant one, and yet to a certain extent it fascinates. You have a power of your own, and on many men you can exercise it, but not on me. I have done much for you. What more do you want? I have given you house, name, position, unlimited wealth—what more do you want?”
“I want more—a little thing, but of such priceless value!” she said hungrily.
He was lying back looking up at her. She was making passes across his forehead.
“I feel strangely sleepy,” he said. “The most delicious sleep steals over me. It is wonderful! You are a queer creature. What more did you say you wanted—what is the thing of priceless value?”
“A heart, Luke—yours.”