"I don't especially feel so."
"Are you happy?"
"I don't know."
He stooped over her, studying her face. She did not move, only her deep, dark eyes looked up coldly into his. He took the hand which she did not draw away, and whispered: "Claire, let me make you happy."
She did not answer. He bent nearer. Her eyes did not shift from his, she saw that he was going to kiss her, but she did not move. If the whole world had come crashing down upon her, she could not have made the slightest effort to escape.
He pressed his lips against hers. She did not return his kiss, but she did not protest. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her up. Still she made no objection. He held her more closely, kissing her again and again. She remained impassive, unable to summon sufficient willpower to resist. Besides, had she not decided to be this man's wife?
He was pouring into her ears short, whispered words of endearment, giving his love free rein.
"Claire—Claire," he whispered passionately, "you do love me! Say you love me!"
"Oh, must I say that?" she asked languidly.
He laid her head back on the pillow tenderly.