mpliments on the success of a coiffure he felt to be his own
creation. The fellow was too familiar, thought Oliver, with
increasing irritation. He darkened, grew glum and silent; and when,
after dinner, Martigues approached him with a luckless tribute to
Madame Shaw's superlative loveliness, he answered curtly, and turned
on his heel. Myra witnessed the brief discourtesy, and later very
gently taxed him with it. What had the unfortunate artist done? He
faced her like a sulky boy and would not answer; but she was quick
to penetrate his grievance. She laughed then, as a woman laughs who
has nothing to conceal, declaring that Martigues's taste was not
infallible, and that Oliver knew best what became his Myra. She soon
wooed him back to his old charming self, and the incident passed.
But there were others on the following days, and Myra grew thoughtful.

She and Oliver were seldom alone. Her joy of life, her vitality, her
very talent, depended on a multitude of impressions, on innumerable
personal contacts. She belonged to a rich, throbbing world of
emotions; she gathered passion for her song from the yearnings, the
anonymous aspirations, even the crudities of the human forces about
her.

She was Oliver's most gloriously when most surrounded. His pride was
centred on her; it was centred, however, on the brilliant returns of
her actual presence--a presence which was never too far removed in
flesh or spirit to deprive him of a certain naive assumption of
ownership. That she should continue all the dear, familiar
fascinations beyond his sight or touch, in a far-away land, with
David Cannon as a daily companion, was another matter. Not that he
was jealous of David. No one man stood out as a rival. But Cannon
travelling with Myra, sharing artistic triumphs with her, escorting
her to entertainments given in her honour, Cannon, in fact,
associated in foreign minds with the beautiful cantatrice, offended
the inviolable rights of his lover's vanity. He would have her less
beautiful, less gifted, not more faithful.

Exquisitely sensitive where he was concerned, Myra detected this
subtle change in his attitude toward her and her work. The origins
of the change, she knew, were obscurely lodged in the male egoism.
He himself was not aware of them. He seemed nearer and dearer than
ever, even more ardent. He wanted her constantly within range of his
eyes and hands that he might in a thousand coaxing or, often,
petulant ways assert a