you had found your heart, that my kisses had at
last awakened it. I love you, love you with every fibre of my being,
and you--you love, yet you refrain."

"Quoting Henley, aren't you, Don Carlos, and trying the effect of
pathos by way of a change?" retorted Myra. "How amusing! As far as I
am concerned, you can 'break your heart on my hard unfaith and break
your heart in vain...' Don't grip my hand so tightly. You are hurting
me."

"I will hurt you if you are trifling with me and making mock of my
love," said Don Carlos quickly, through clenched teeth. "Don't try me
too far, Myra. Beware lest my love turns to hate!"

"Beware lest my love turns to hate!" mimicked Myra, and trilled out a
laugh. "You are talking like a character in an old-fashioned
melodrama. Should I play up to you by crying, 'Unhand me, villain,'
turning deathly pale, and screaming for help. Don't be absurd! ... We
won't dance the encore. But if you will promise to be sensible and
refrain from talking extravagant nonsense, you may take me in to
supper."

She felt certain that she had both hurt and puzzled Don Carlos, and she
gloried in the thought, flattering herself that she was really taking
her revenge. She was completely mistress of herself again, sure of her
own powers, and during supper she laid herself out to be "nice," with
almost devastating effect, playing on the emotions of the Spaniard like
a skilled musician on a sensitive instrument. Deliberately she
encouraged him, only to rebuff him when she had inflamed his ardour,
deliberately she set herself to excite his passions, only to reward him
with a cold douche of ridicule.

"I believe the man is actually in love with me," Myra soliloquised,
smiling in self-satisfied fashion at her reflection in the mirror as
she undressed that night. "He was grinding his teeth in sheer
mortification and looking quite murderous when I told him he was boring
me, and I went off with Tony. Yes, I think I am taking my revenge.
What a triumph if I find myself able to twist round my little finger,
so to speak, the man who boasted no woman could resist him!"

Yet when she fell asleep she dreamed that she was again in the arms of
Don Carlos with his lips crushed on her own, and that she was returning
his passionate kisses with fervour and straining the Spaniard close to
her heart although Tony (in her dream) was looking on, feebly begging
her to desist and to kiss him instead, and Lady Fermanagh