The Devil leaned back in the frail willow chair and looked at me.
"And now that I am here, Mary MacLane," he said, "what would you?"
"I want you to marry me," I replied at once. "And I want it more than ever anything was wanted since the world began."
"So? I am flattered," said the Devil, and smiled gently, enchantingly.
At that smile I was ravished and transported, and a spasm of some rare emotion thrilled all the little nerves in me from my heels to my forehead. And yet the smile was not for me but rather somewhat at my expense.
"But," he went on, "you must know it is not my custom to marry women."
"I am sure it is not," I agreed, "and I do not ask to be peculiarly favored. Anything that you may give me, however little, will constitute marriage for me."
"And would marriage itself be so small a thing?" asked the Devil.
