He looked at her and wondered what devilries might be stirring in her mind, what evil purpose she desired to serve.
“Thou’lt pay three thousand philips?” he said slowly. Then bluntly asked her: “Why?”
“To gratify a whim, to please a fancy.”
“What is the nature of this costly whim?” he insisted.
“The desire to possess her for my own,” she answered evasively.
“And this desire to possess her, whence is it sprung?” he returned, as patient as he was relentless.
“You ask too many questions,” she exclaimed with a flash of anger.
He shrugged and smiled. “You answer too few.”
She set her arms akimbo and faced him squarely. Faintly through her veil he caught the gleam of her eyes, and he cursed the advantage she had in that her face was covered from his reading.
“In a word, Oliver-Reis,” said she, “wilt sell her for three thousand philips?”