But there was something more than a girl's whim had he but realised it; a feeble new self that Pansy was responsible for: the man he might have been but for his profligate training.
Rayma saw where his gaze was. To get his eyes away from Pansy, she took one of his hands and pressed it on her bosom.
"When first I came here, my lord," she whispered, "there was nothing else you could think of."
His attention came back to her.
"You were very pretty, Rayma," he said a trifle absently.
"And am I not beautiful still?" she asked quickly.
"You're always a picture," he answered.
He talked as if to a spoilt child who bored him.
Rayma hitched herself closer, until her soft breast pressed against his knee. But he remained silent, without look or caress, his gaze still on the distant girl.
He was wondering whether he would take Pansy out of her present surroundings, or if a spell in the harem might not make her realise to the fullest her own helplessness and his complete supremacy.