"Always you are right, dear lady," responded Don Carlos smilingly; "but you leave me undetermined as to whether I am your fly or your honey. Incidentally, we have another proverb, 'En casa del moro no hables algaravia.' Can your ladyship translate that?"

"Yes, senor," Lady Fermanagh answered, after a moment of thought. "It means, 'Do not speak Arabic in the house of a Moor,' but I don't know what the application is where we are concerned, unless you are suggesting I have misinterpreted your perfect English, or else you are subtly criticising my imperfect Spanish. You are too deep for me, Don Carlos, and I will leave Myra to try and fathom you. Beware of him, Myra!" she added smilingly, as she moved away.

"I assure you I am absolutely sincere when I tell you, sweet lady, that I am more than charmed to know that you are coming to Spain as my guest, and I promise you I shall do everything that lies in my power to make your visit interesting," said Don Carlos to Myra. "But let me warn you that if El Diablo Cojuelo learns that the most beautiful, adorable, and wholly desirable girl in the world is going to visit El Castillo de Ruiz, he will assuredly make an attempt to kidnap you."

"Is the most beautiful, adorable, and wholly desirable girl in the world going to be one of the party?" inquired Myra, assuming an innocent expression. "How interesting and exciting! Who is she? A film star?"

"She is you, senorita," Don Carlos responded, "and let me remind you that El Diablo Cojuelo almost makes a hobby of kidnapping beautiful women. So you will be in danger all the time you are in Spain."

"I refuse to be dismayed—and I don't believe a word of it!" responded Myra, with a silvery laugh. "I don't believe you keep a pet brigand and outlaw on your estate, but even if you do, the prospect of being kidnapped does not dismay me. The risk, if any, will add a spice of adventure to the visit. But I can't believe you would let any brigand steal me from your castle, Don Carlos, although you have threatened to steal me yourself. Would you?"

"I promise you that El Diablo Cojuelo shall not steal you away from me even if he captures you, senorita," Don Carlos replied. "I am glad you are undismayed, and again I assure you I am honoured and flattered that you have accepted my invitation to——"

"I regarded it more as a challenge than an invitation," interposed Myra.

"Really! Then I am more than honoured by your acceptance of the challenge," resumed Don Carlos, his face crinkling into a smile. "I wonder why you are condescending to be so gracious to me to-night, Myra. Do I understand I am forgiven?"

"Perhaps I have really nothing to forgive, Carlos, and it was folly on my part to take offence," Myra answered, with an alluring glance. "Incidentally, it is nice of you to keep your promise not to make love to me, but—but——"

She broke off as if at a loss. For once in a way Myra Rostrevor was deliberately playing the part of coquette, and she saw Don Carlos's eyes flame suddenly with ardour and expectation.

"You mean that you no longer hold me to my promise, Myra?" he asked, scarcely above a whisper.

"No, I—I don't mean that, Carlos," murmured Myra, with eyes downcast; "but—but you have only been coldly polite to me ever since you arrived here, yet I have seen you making love to other girls. If you are in love with me, and were not merely pretending——"

"I was not pretending, Myra," interrupted Don Carlos. "I love you with every fibre of my being. It was only pretence where the other women are—and were—concerned. I confess I tried to make you feel jealous, and I trust I succeeded?"

"I am not going to tell you," said Myra, raising her eyelids to flash another alluring and provocative glance at him. "Unless there is love, there can hardly be jealousy. If I were desperately in love with a man who did not care for me, or pretended he did not, I should not have the heart to try to make any other man fall in love with me. How can you expect me to believe you are really in love with me, Carlos, when I see you constantly making love to other women?"

"Darling, give me but a chance to prove my love," Don Carlos breathed; then quick-wittedly began to talk about salmon fishing as two or three other guests approached.

Myra did not give him another opportunity to talk to her alone during the rest of the evening, but she contrived to tantalise and puzzle him further, nevertheless. She pleaded tiredness when he asked her to dance after dinner, but danced with other men, and she was unusually affectionate in her manner towards Tony when she thought Don Carlos was watching her, which was often.

"I say, Myra, darlinest, you're looking lovelier and more adorable than ever, and I feel bewitched and enraptured," Tony whispered to her as she took his arm and gave it an affectionate little squeeze after a dance.

"I am trying to make up for being horrid about Don Carlos, Tony dear," explained Myra. "Now I have come to my senses, I am going to let the delightful man make love to me as much as he likes, and play him at his own game... Let's sit the next dance out in the conservatory, Tony."

She had seen Don Carlos wander into the conservatory, and the imp of mischief that possessed her was prompting her to find new ways of teasing and testing him. The conservatory was in semi-darkness, but as Myra entered with Tony she located Don Carlos, for he happened to strike a match at that moment to light a cigarette, before seating himself in a dark corner.

"Let's find a dark corner, Tony," said Myra, and guided her fiance close to where Don Carlos was sitting—close enough to be sure that the Spaniard would be able to overhear anything she said. "The man who loves me doesn't seem to realise that I want to be kissed," she resumed. "You may kiss me, Tony."

"Darling!" exclaimed the delighted Tony, taking her in his arms and kissing her. "I have been longing to kiss you all evening, sweetheart, but thought you might object even if I got a chance."

"You silly men don't seem to understand that a girl isn't necessarily in earnest if she says she doesn't want to be kissed, or pretends she doesn't want to be made love to," responded Myra, with a little gurgling laugh. "Kiss me again, Tony, but this time kiss me in the way I should love to be kissed by the man who loves me, and not just like a cold-blooded Englishman."

Tony kissed her again, straining her closer, but Myra broke from him as if in sudden alarm.

"There's someone in the corner, Tony," she whispered. "I saw the glow of a cigarette-end. Let's slip out quickly. I hope they didn't see us or hear us, and that they won't rag us later on."

Little guessing that Myra had intended part of what she said should be overheard, Tony, a little bewildered, allowed himself to be rushed out of the conservatory, protesting in an undertone that it didn't matter about being heard or seen, as they were engaged.

For the rest of the evening Myra continued to avoid Don Carlos as much as possible, but she smiled at him in tantalisingly alluring fashion every time their eyes met, wondering as she did so what was in his mind and what effect her coquetry had had upon him. And she went to bed feeling that she had, at least, done something towards justifying her boast that she would make Don Carlos fall in love with her in earnest.

At dead of night she woke suddenly, with the feeling strong upon her that someone, or something, had touched her, but when she sat up in bed and switched on the lights she could see nothing to give her any cause for alarm. Deciding she must have been dreaming, Myra was about to switch off the lights and compose herself to sleep again, when her eyes fell on a folded sheet of notepaper on her pillow. With a sudden intake of breath, she picked up the note, unfolded it, and read:

"The man who loves you will kiss you in the way you would love to be kissed as soon as he is relieved of his promise. Relieve him of his promise, and leave the door of your bedroom unlocked again to-morrow night."

Myra read the note again and again, her mind in something of a tumult, her heart throbbing fast. She knew it must have been written by Don Carlos, and she was dismayed by the thought that he had been in her room.

"There seems to be no limit to the man's daring and impudence," she reflected, and was annoyed to find that she was blushing. "What cheek to suggest that I should relieve him of his promise not to make love to me—and leave my bedroom door unlocked! What infernal, stupendous, insulting cheek! ... Yet I suppose he accepted what I said to Tony as an invitation and a challenge—as I intended. Heavens! if anyone should have seen him leaving my room at this time of the morning, I shouldn't have a rag of reputation left. I should be hopelessly compromised, and it wouldn't be much use producing this letter in the hope of clearing myself. Still, I don't suppose anyone else was prowling about at this time of the night or morning... I wonder if he touched me or kissed me? I wonder if he is really in love with me? I wonder..."

Myra did quite a lot of wondering before she eventually drifted into slumber again, and when she was reawakened by her maid bringing her morning tea, it was to find that she had been sleeping with Don Carlos's note clasped against her breast.

"I suppose the wisest and safest course will be to make no reference whatever to the letter, and to pretend I don't know what he is talking about if Don Carlos has the cheek to refer to it," Myra soliloquised, as she dressed. "After all, I deliberately provoked him, and I should have been disappointed if he had taken no notice. I shall keep the letter and challenge him about it later. Meanwhile I shall hold him to his promise not to make love to me, yet do my utmost to make him break his word. I wonder what will happen if I do make him fall in love with me in earnest. Life is becoming quite an adventure!"

So she made no reference to the letter when by chance she found herself alone with Don Carlos for a time during the course of the afternoon, but continued to exert herself to be "nice" to him. And when Myra Rostrevor set herself out to fascinate, she was an exceedingly alluring and seductive creature. Her sweetness, graciousness, and the inviting and enticing glances of her blue eyes obviously had a strong effect on Don Carlos, and fired his ardour.

"Myra, why are you torturing and tantalising me in this fashion?" he burst out suddenly. "Confess that you love me, darling, and release me from my promise not to make love to you."

"Why, you dear, conceited man, don't you understand it is only because you pledged your word not to make love to me that I am being nice to you?" Myra replied, with her bewitching smile. "If you break your promise, I shall immediately freeze up again and keep you at a distance."

"You are cruel, senorita," commented Don Carlos, with a shrug and a sigh. "You are the most tantalising, puzzling and exasperating girl I have ever met, as well as the loveliest and the most adorable."

"Really!" laughed Myra. "I wonder you consort with such an annoying person!"

"Consort? Consort? I like that word, Myra," he responded. "I intend to be your consort for the rest of my life, and you shall be my queen and the empress of my heart."

"What a horrible threat!" exclaimed Myra. "And I am afraid, incidentally, it is camouflaged love-making. You must keep to the spirit as well as the letter of your promise, Don Carlos, if you wish to continue on our present footing."

"I am but human, sweet lady, and you are torturing me," said Don Carlos. "I am like unto a man dying of thirst, and you hold a cup of water to my lips, only to snatch it away when I try to drink. But I promise you I shall yet drink my fill from your fountain of love."

"Another dreadful threat—and aren't your metaphors getting mixed again?"

"Myra, darling, I love—

"Remember your promise!" interrupted Myra. "If, as you say, I torture you so horribly, perhaps you would prefer me to avoid you?"

"No, no, a thousand times, no!" Don Carlos cried. "I was desolated when you refused to dance with me last night, and you put me to the torture later in the conservatory. I wanted to murder the other man, the one in particular on whom you bestowed your favours."

"Dear me! What a bloodthirsty creature! Incidentally, are you not still attempting to make love indirectly? I suppose making love has become a sort of second nature, and you do not know you are breaking your promise?"

"I stand rebuked, sweet lady, and crave your pardon," said Don Carlos. "Never yet have I consciously broken a promise. And let me remind you that I have made you several promises."

"Several?" repeated Myra, raising her eyebrows inquiringly.

"Yes, you may remember that the first time we danced together I promised to awaken your heart and fire it with the passion which now consumes me," replied Don Carlos quietly. "I have promised several times since to make you my own, to make you surrender to the call of love and confess yourself conquered."

"Those, I presume, were promises made to yourself," Myra retorted lightly. "We all promise ourselves things, and hope for things, we know at heart we shall never get."

"I have told you it was prophesied that I should get my heart's desire, and also that I have won the reputation of getting anything on which I set my heart."

"As far as I am concerned, you have won the reputation of being the most conceited and audacious man in Europe," commented Myra, turning away from him with a careless laugh.



CHAPTER VI

It was Tony Standish who found himself practically ignored by Myra after dinner that evening, and almost for the first time he began to feel jealous, really jealous, of Don Carlos de Ruiz. Myra danced three times with the Spaniard, and "sat out" two more with him in the conservatory, flagrantly flirting with him, exercising all her powers of attraction and fascination, continually tempting Don Carlos to break his promise.

His dark eyes told her that she had fired his heart and set his pulses throbbing with desire, but no word of love crossed his lips. When they were dancing together, however, more than once he crushed her close to his breast, but Myra did not rebuke him, and several times she squeezed his hand and deliberately brushed his cheek with her hair during a Tango.

"I rather fancy I am going to justify my boast and take my revenge, and Don Carlos de Ruiz will learn to his cost that it isn't safe to trifle with Myra Rostrevor," she reflected. "I suppose I am taking an unfair advantage, but it serves Don Carlos right."

She was careful to lock and bolt her bedroom door that night before retiring, and she left a light burning and sat up in bed waiting and watching expectantly. Two o'clock chimed, and Myra was beginning to nod drowsily, when a faint sound brought her to sudden wakefulness and alertness. Someone was trying the door of her bedroom! She saw the door-handle turn, and she held her breath and listened intently... The handle turned again ... turned back to its original position.... And that was all.

Listening with thudding heart, Myra could hear no sound from the other side of her locked and bolted door, and the handle did not move again. Slipping out of bed after a few minutes, she stole noiselessly across the room and, dropping on one knee, put her ear to the keyhole and listened, but heard no sound save the throbbing of her own heart.

She could not have explained what she expected, hoped, or dreaded to hear as she crouched there, straining her ears, but it was characteristic of her that suddenly she laughed aloud.

"So he was conceited enough to think that I would leave my bedroom door unlocked!" she whispered, as she went back to bed and switched off the light. "What sort of girl does he take me for? I don't know whether to feel insulted or amused... But I'm glad I didn't forget to lock and bolt the door. I wonder..."

Myra snuggled her head down in her pillow, but scarcely had she closed her eyes when there was a crash against her bedroom door, a shout, and then a shot, and the sound of more shouting. She sprang up convulsively, her hands pressed to her breast, screamed involuntarily, then, recovering herself, switched on the lights, sprung out of bed, unbolted and unlocked the door, and flung it open—to find Don Carlos de Ruiz, clad in pyjamas and dressing gown, engaged in a desperate struggle with a burly, fully-dressed stranger on the floor of the corridor outside her room.

In one swift glance Myra saw that the stranger had a pistol clutched in his right hand, but that Don Carlos had a grip on the man's right wrist and was desperately struggling to prevent his antagonist from using the weapon against him. She screamed again, and even as she did so Don Carlos, by some dexterous twist, got the armed man's elbow across his knee, there was a howl of pain, and the pistol dropped from the fellow's hand.

Quick as lightning Don Carlos released his grip, made a dive for the pistol and got it, then leapt to his feet.

"Now lie where you are, you swine, or I'll kill you," he snarled breathlessly.

"Blast you! You've broken my arm," the man on the floor snarled back at him, writhing in agony. "Blast you! Don't shoot. I surrender... Oh, Gawd! my arm! I wish I'd killed you, damn you!"

While this was happening, doors had been flung open, lights had been switched on, and scared women and startled men had appeared in the corridors from their bedrooms, excitedly demanding to know the cause of the uproar. Tony, in a suit of purple pyjamas, and with his sandy hair on end, was almost the first on the scene.

"What's up? What's happened? Who's this fellow?" he asked breathlessly. "A burglar? Have you shot him, Carlos?"

"No, I think I have merely dislocated his elbow," Don Carlos answered, without taking his eye off the brawny burglar, who was now sitting up nursing his damaged elbow and muttering curses through his clenched teeth. "He tried to shoot me when I surprised him as he was trying to force the door of Miss Rostrevor's room. You'd better 'phone for the police and have the house searched in case he has accomplices."

"You can save yourself the trouble," growled the burglar. "I'm on my own. When you 'phone for the police, ask 'em to fetch a doctor with 'em. You've broken my ruddy arm, damn you!"

"Considering that you did your best to murder me, you dog, you can think yourself lucky that I did not kill you as soon as I got possession of your pistol," retorted Don Carlos, who had recovered his breath.

There was little sleep for anyone at Auchinleven that night. The local Police Inspector and a Constable arrived after a long interval and took the burglar away, after making a search of the house, assisted by the servants, without finding any accomplices of the man in custody.

Next morning, of course, Don Carlos was the hero of the hour, and everyone was lavishing compliments and congratulations on him for having tackled an armed burglar single-handed and getting the better of the desperado.

"I thought I heard someone prowling about in the corridor and got up to investigate," Don Carlos explained. "The fellow seemed to be trying to force the door of Miss Rostrevor's room, and when I challenged him he whipped out a pistol and fired at me. Fortunately for me, he missed, and before he could fire again I grappled with him, managed to get a grip on his arm, and dislocated his elbow by a trick taught me years ago by an old wrestler."

"I wonder why he was trying to force my door, which was locked and bolted, instead of discovering if some of the other doors had been left unlocked," said Myra. "Oddly enough, I fancied I heard someone trying my door some time before I heard the shot. And I still think there was more than one burglar concerned," she added, with a direct and challenging glance at Don Carlos.

"The Police Inspector tells me the man asserts he had no accomplices or confederates," said Don Carlos, his face expressionless. "It is strange, nevertheless, that he should have attempted to force his way into your room in preference to any other."

"Very strange!" agreed Myra. "And how fortunate for me that I should have happened to take the precaution of locking and bolting my door. Oddly enough, I had a sort of presentiment that if I did not bolt my door something dreadfully unpleasant might happen. Normally, you see, I don't bolt the door or lock it. It I do, it means that I have to get up when my maid brings my morning tea. But the night before last I seemed to have a warning, so last night I took precautions against any unwanted visitor. I shall always lock and bolt my door in future."

"Isn't there an old saying that love laughs at locksmiths?" inquired Don Carlos, his expression still sphinx-like, but his eyes twinkling. "You looked delicious in your nightie and boudoir cap, Myra."

"I shall remember to put on my dressing gown next time I am expecting burglars," responded Myra, flushing slightly. "Thank you for saving me, gallant sir."

She was wondering whether it was Don Carlos or the burglar who had tried her door, and she could hazard a guess as to why Carlos had happened to be in the corridor at two o'clock in the morning.

"I am thinking of becoming a burglar myself, dear lady, but please do not wear your dressing gown on that account," laughed Don Carlos.

"I am wondering what might have happened if I had left my door unlocked," said Myra, assuming a thoughtful expression, but avoiding Don Carlos's eyes. "I feel half-inclined to leave it unlocked and unbolted to-night and risk the consequences."

Again, however, she was careful to bolt and lock her bedroom door when she retired that night, but again she sat up in bed, as on the previous night, waiting and watching. And again, in the early hours of the morning, she saw the door handle turn, and she trilled out a laugh, hoping that the would-be "burglar" would hear it.

She continued to exercise her impish arts of tantalisation and her wiles of fascination on Don Carlos during the remainder of her stay at Auchinleven. Sometimes she would seem, metaphorically, to throw herself at his head and appear to be eager to surrender herself, at other times she would completely ignore him, and make open love to Tony in his presence. As time went on she realised that she was driving the Don almost to distraction, and she gloried in her powers.

"I feel certain that I have made him fall in love with me in earnest," Myra reflected triumphantly. "He boasted that no woman could resist him. Women have been his playthings, and he must have fooled many. Now he is being fooled himself. I think he is desperately in love with me now."

She was right in her surmise. Don Carlos's love for her had become a burning, consuming passion. It needed the exercise of all his will power to keep it under control, and continually he had to curb his ardent passion and remind himself of his promise not to make love. But he was biding his time and had made a vow that he would make Myra pay in full for her coquetry.

The house party broke up at length and the guests dispersed, Myra and her aunt returning to London for the "Little Season" and to equip themselves for the winter cruise in Tony's yacht, which was being refitted at Southampton.

Don Carlos had begged to be allowed to call, and both Lady Fermanagh and Myra had said graciously that they would be delighted to see him at any time.

"My thanks to you for having succeeded in keeping your promise," said Myra, as they parted. "Accept my congratulations."

"One reaches Heaven by way of Purgatory," responded Don Carlos cryptically. "I am looking forward eagerly to our next meeting, when I shall be free to express myself."

Expectant, and a trifle apprehensive, Myra awaited events. Nothing happened. A week elapsed without her seeing, or hearing from, Don Carlos, and when she made inquiries about him she learned from Tony that he had returned to Spain.

"Said he had some business matters to attend to, and wanted to arrange for our entertainment at his place out there," explained Tony. "He promised to be back in time to join the yacht at Southampton."

Myra was piqued. It hurt her pride to think she had not made a conquest after all, and had merely been flattering herself in imagining she had made Don Carlos fall in love with her.

"What a fool I feel!" soliloquised Myra. "I was confident he was in desperate earnest and was crazy about me, and I have been wondering how to resist and repel him. He shows how little he cares by going off to Spain without even calling to say good-bye, and with never a farewell note. Oh, what an exasperating creature!"

Another ten days passed uneventfully, and Myra found herself oddly discontented with life and things in general. It was a dismal November afternoon, she had no engagements, and was feeling utterly bored as she took tea alone in the drawing room of her aunt's house in Mayfair, when, to her astonishment, Don Carlos de Ruiz was announced. Her heart gave a convulsive leap at the mere mention of his name, and it was throbbing faster than its wont as she rose to greet him, although she assumed an attitude of cool indifference.

"Sure, and it's seriously annoyed with you, I am, Don Carlos, and you needn't expect me to say I'm glad to see you," she said in her musical Irish voice as she gave him her hand. "How very rude of you to disappear without even a word of farewell. Rude, did I say? Perhaps crude would be a better word. How rude and crude to dash back to Spain to attend to some matter of business when you had been trying to pretend to be hopelessly in love."

"Not 'hopelessly,' Myra," Don Carlos responded quietly, raising her fingers to his lips. "Never have I been 'hopelessly' in love, for always I have been sure at heart that I should win.... So you have missed me, darling, and now your heart is throbbing because I have come back to you? I am glad. I went away without a word in the hope that by so doing I should punish you for your cruelty in tempting and tantalising me as you did at Auchinleven."

"Tempting and tantalising you!" exclaimed Myra, and trilled out a laugh. "And you think, you conceited man, that you were punishing me by going to Spain for a fortnight or so without even having the politeness to say au revoir! How very amusing! And how very crude and rude! Didn't you understand I was paying you back in your own coin at Auchinleven by pretending to be in love? So you went away with the idea of punishing me!"

"I found it necessary to return to my home in order to take precautionary measures against the bandit, El Diablo Cojuelo, who is evidently planning fresh mischief," Don Carlos explained. "Now I have come back to you to redeem my promise."

"Your promise?" queried Myra, forcing herself to meet his ardent glance. "I don't understand. What promise?"

"My promise to kiss you in the way you wanted to be kissed by the man who loves you," said Don Carlos quickly; and before Myra realised what was happening she was crushed close to his breast and he was kissing her as she had never been kissed before, hungrily, fiercely, passionately, ardently.

For a few minutes she found herself, in some mysterious way, robbed of all powers of resistance. Don Carlos's lips were crushed on her own, and his burning kisses seemed to be drugging her brain and drawing the very heart out of her. Then suddenly she struggled and broke from him, her lovely face aflame, her bosom heaving tempestuously, her breath coming and going in sobbing gasps.

"How dare you! Oh, how dare you!" she panted. "You brute! You brute! I could kill you!"

She dropped limply into a chair and covered her burning face with her hands. She was trembling, her heart was throbbing as if it would burst, and her brain was in a turmoil. Don Carlos stood silent for a few moments, his dark eyes still aflame with ardour as he looked down at Myra. He, too, was trembling slightly, and a spot of hectic colour glowed on each cheek-bone.

"Why blame or reproach me, Myra darling?" he said at last, his deep voice vibrant. "Remember that you tempted me, challenged me. It was to me that you spoke, and not to Standish, when you said you wanted to be kissed by the man who loved you, and not by a cold-blooded Englishman. I promised you that night I would kiss you in the way you longed to be kissed, in the way I longed to kiss you, and I have fulfilled my promise—in part. Myra, belovedest, the nectar of your lips has increased my longing a thousandfold. Tell me, darling, that my kisses have fired your heart with the love for which I crave, and——"

"I hate you, hate you, and I shall never forgive you for this!" burst out Myra passionately, starting to her feet. "Go away at once, and don't dare to come near me again. How dare you, how dare you kiss me like that! If I were to tell Tony——"

She broke off with a sharp intake of breath, for at that moment the butler tapped at the drawing room door and opened it.

"Mr. Standish," he announced; and Tony walked in, as if he were an actor taking his "cue."

Antony Standish could (but didn't) boast of a 'Varsity education, and he prided himself on his smartness, but he was far from being "gleg at the uptak'," as the Scots say, and his powers of observation and deduction assuredly would not have qualified him for a position as a Scotland Yard "sleuth." Seemingly he was quite unconscious of the electrical atmosphere as he entered, and quite failed to notice Myra's agitation.

"Hullo, Don Carlos! What a surprise!" he cried breezily. "How are you, old fellow? ... Hello, Myra, my dear. Thought I'd blow in on the chance of finding you at home this beastly afternoon and cadge a cup of tea.... Where did you spring from, Don Carlos? Thought you were still in Spain. Tremendously glad to see you again, old man. When did you get back? You're looking tremendously fit."

"Thank you," said Don Carlos, forcing a smile as he shook hands. "I got back to London less than an hour ago, and hastened to call on Miss Rostrevor to assure her of my undying regard—and to redeem a promise."

He darted a side glance at Myra, who was nervously biting her lips and trying to compose herself.

"Awfully nice of you, old chap. Glad you're back," drawled the unobservant Tony. "I say, Myra, dear, aren't you going to offer me a cup of tea? I suppose I may smoke as Lady Fermanagh isn't here?"

Myra found herself at a loss to know how to deal with the situation. To tell Tony what had happened would inevitably lead to a painful scene, perhaps even to violence; to refrain from telling him would seem like condoning Don Carlos's conduct. She was torn by conflicting emotions and could not make up her mind how to act. Act, however, she did, in a literal sense, for although her heart was still throbbing wildly and her mind was in a whirl, she managed somehow to assume an almost casual air.

"Why, of course you may smoke, Tony," she said, after ringing the bell and ordering more tea. "I'll have a cigarette myself to soothe my nerves."

"Never noticed any signs of nerves about you, old thing," laughed Tony, as he proffered his case and struck a match to light the cigarette Myra accepted. "Nerves! The risks you have been taking of late in the hunting field have made my blood run cold. The way you took that hedge last week during the run with the Quorn made my heart stand still. Honestly, Myra, I shall be glad when I have you safely aboard the Killarney, and we are on our way to Spain."

"I am not going to Spain," said Myra, very abruptly.

"Not going to Spain?" repeated Tony, in surprise.

"No, Tony, I am not going to Spain. Don Carlos has offended me beyond pardon."

"I say, Myra, you're ragging, aren't you?" asked Tony. "I thought you had made it up with Don Carlos. Don't tell me the villain has been making love to you again!"

"Why, of course I have," exclaimed Don Carlos. "I am madly in love with Myra, and it is because she is afraid of falling as desperately in love with me as I am with her, and being forced, in consequence, to jilt you, that she has again decided not to go to Spain. She is afraid of me—and of love."

"What a pair of leg-pullers you are!" chuckled Tony, assuming the whole thing was a jest. "Half the men one meets are in love with Myra, but I refuse to believe she is afraid of any of them."

"Ah, but she is afraid of me, my dear Standish, and you should realise I am your most dangerous rival," Don Carlos said gravely, and again Tony chuckled amusedly. "Perhaps it is not only of me but of herself, and for herself, that Myra is afraid," Carlos continued, with a challenging glance at Myra, who felt she would like to box his ears and also to shake Tony for being so dense. "The lovely senorita is also afraid of being captured by El Diablo Cojuelo, who would make her an ideal husband."

"I say, that's hardly complimentary, old fellow!" Tony commented. "Sort of faux pas, isn't it, to suggest that a brigand would be a better husband for Myra than yours truly, and that Myra is a suitable wife for a brigand?"

"That, of course, depends on the brigand," answered Don Carlos, with a smile. "Of course, if Myra is really scared, and is genuinely afraid to come to Spain lest she should lose her heart——"

"I am afraid of nothing!" interrupted Myra, exasperated beyond measure; and immediately she regretted the impulsive words.

"So you will prove the fact by keeping your promise to come to Spain as my guest?" queried Don Carlos quickly.

"That will depend on whether you know your duty to a guest and your obligations as a host," retorted Myra curtly, and Tony raised his eyebrows, surprised by her unusual rudeness.

"I flatter myself, dear lady, that I have a reputation as a host whose hospitality is boundless," said Don Carlos gravely.

A footman entering with the tea-tray relieved the tension, and Tony began to question Don Carlos about his trip, and to tell him what sport he had been enjoying.



CHAPTER VII

Don Carlos took his leave a few minutes later, leaving Myra and Tony alone together, and again Myra could not make up her mind whether or not to tell her fiance what had happened. It happened that Tony, as soon as they were alone, became particularly sentimental and wanted to kiss her—a fact which somehow seemed to make the situation still more difficult and complicated.

"I don't want to be kissed, Tony," Myra objected, when her lover tried to embrace her. "I feel as if I never want to be kissed again, and I don't want any love-making. Leave me alone!"

"You certainly are in a queer mood to-day, Myra," Tony commented. "What has upset you, darling? You were quite rude to poor old Don Carlos, and now you are snubbing me. What's the matter, old thing?"

"Oh, Tony, my dear, I—I don't know just what is the matter with me, and I don't know what to do," exclaimed Myra, laughing tremulously and feeling inclined to give way to tears. "I don't understand myself. Oh, why are you so stupid? Why don't you make love to me and force me to kiss you? Why don't you kiss and kiss me against my will?"

"Why, hang it all, Myra, I've just been trying to make love to you and asking you to give me a kiss, and you wouldn't. Now—oh, dash it all, I don't know what to make of you, my dear. You are a most puzzling girl!"

"And you are the most exasperatingly dull man," Myra retorted, still half-laughing, half-crying. "Oh, Tony, my dear, take care of me and love me terribly if you want to keep me. Hold me fast and grapple me to you with hooks of steel, or you will lose me."

She almost hurled herself into Tony's arms, buried her face in his shoulder, and burst into tears. Tony did not know what to make of it at all, and he felt utterly helpless. Agitatedly he patted her on the back and stroked her hair.

"Myra, for heaven's sake don't cry," he said, in what was intended to be a soothing tone. "You make me feel so bally awful. I've never seen you crying before, and I can't make out what is the matter. What on earth has upset you, darling? You're quite hysterical. Hadn't I better ring for your maid, dear?"

Poor Tony did not realise how sadly he was blundering, how sorely he was failing in an emergency.

"Oh, why can't you understand!" burst out Myra passionately. "Why can't you love in the right way? Don't pat my head and my back as if I were a pet dog, you ninny! Tony, I—I—oh, I can't bear it!"

She broke from him and rushed from the room, banging the door behind her.

"Well I'm sunk!" muttered Tony, distractedly running his fingers through his sandy hair. "What on earth is a fellow to do in these circumstances? I hope to goodness Myra won't carry on like this after we are married, or I shall never know where I am. I wonder what upset her?"

Troubled in mind, he took his departure, and on his way to his Club he was fortunate enough to meet Lady Fermanagh.

"My dear Tony, all women are more or less creatures of impulse, liable to do the most unexpected and quixotic things," her worldly-wise Ladyship told him, when he had explained what had happened and asked her to advise him what to do. "That is what makes us so interesting. We do not understand ourselves, and if men understood us we should cease to interest or attract them."

"Yes, I suppose so, Lady Fermanagh," agreed Tony, with a disconsolate shake of his head. "But it would be rather awful to marry a woman who puzzled one all the time. I couldn't make Myra out at all to-day, and can't think what can have upset her."

"Remember, dear boy, that Myra is Irish and has the Celtic temperament," said Lady Fermanagh. "Probably someone, or something, had upset her before you called, and you had to suffer for it."

"It wasn't only I who had to suffer," remarked Tony. "Poor old Carlos was there when I blew in, and Myra was snubbing him unmercifully. Between ourselves, Lady Fermanagh, Myra was positively insulting. Don Carlos took it rather well, but I fancy he was upset all the same."

"H'm! So Don Carlos is back?" commented her ladyship, with an inscrutable smile. "That may explain matters. Perhaps it was he who was responsible for Myra's tantrums. But don't worry, Tony. Myra will probably be particularly nice to you if you see her to-night."

"I'm not exactly worried, Lady Fermanagh, but I'm very puzzled," said Standish. "I don't suppose Don Carlos had anything to do with the matter, really, although he did say chaffingly that he had been making love to Myra again and said she was afraid of him. But after he had gone Myra seemed uncommonly annoyed with me for some reason or other, and—er—well, a fellow doesn't know exactly what to do in the circumstances, and I thought you'd be able to give me advice."

"My advice to you, Tony, is to make ardent love to Myra, to woo her as if she had not already promised to marry you," Lady Fermanagh responded. "It is just possible, my dear Tony, if you will forgive my suggesting it, that you have not been playing the part of devoted lover wholeheartedly enough."

"Perhaps so," said Tony, rather ruefully. "Er—the difficulty is that when I try to talk and make love like the chaps do in novels and plays, Myra laughs at me and tells me not to be sloppy. I say, Lady Fermanagh, don't tell Myra I've been talking to you about her. She might be angry. But if you can size things up and give me a hint later as to why she was vexed with me this afternoon I'll be tremendously obliged."

Lady Fermanagh had a very shrewd idea that she could have told him there and then who was the cause of the trouble, remembering well Myra's boast that she would make Don Carlos fall in love with her, and her resentment at his lack of courtesy in going off to Spain without a word of farewell.

"Yes, Tony, I'll do my best to 'size things up,' as you so gracefully put it, and may be able to drop you a hint later," she said.

She did some hard thinking as she drove home, where she arrived to find Myra seated listlessly in an armchair by the fire, an unlighted cigarette between her fingers, and a brooding expression in her blue eyes.

"No, there's nothing really the matter, auntie, and I'm quite well," Myra said, in answer to her ladyship's questions; "but—oh, I can't explain, but I feel fed up with everything. I don't think I shall go to the Cavendish's dance to-night."

"What, or who, has made you suddenly feel 'fed up with everything,' as you put it?" inquired Lady Fermanagh. "You seemed in quite good spirits at lunch-time. I noticed Don Carlos de Ruiz's card in the salver in the hall as I came in. Was it he, by any chance, who upset you, Myra?"

Myra's fair face blushed hotly, and she hesitated before replying. Then, impulsively, she decided to tell her aunt everything, and did so.

Lady Fermanagh listened in grave—almost grim—silence, and with a troubled look in her fine eyes.

"My dear, do you realise that you have brought this on yourself?" she asked quietly, when she had heard Myra out. "I warned you at Auchinleven that you would be playing with fire, and that it was extremely dangerous to trifle with a Spaniard. You deliberately set yourself out to play the part of siren, to make Don Carlos fall in love with you, and——"

"He had deliberately laid himself out before that to make me fall in love with him, and pleaded that he was only amusing himself when he was challenged," interrupted Myra. "That was an insult, and I wanted my revenge. If he did not expect me to take him seriously, he had no right to take me seriously, no right to take advantage and to kiss me as he did this afternoon. Now you are throwing the blame on me, just as he did himself! Why should there be one law for the man and another for the woman? It isn't fair!"

"My dear Myra, do try to preserve some sense of proportion," said Lady Fermanagh gently. "Admittedly it was quite wrong of Don Carlos to make passionate love to you, knowing you were betrothed to Tony, but, as I have told you repeatedly, he was probably only following the custom of his race and did not expect to be taken seriously in the first instance."

"And is it an unheard-of thing in Spain for a betrothed girl to play the part of coquette, and to flirt with the men who make love to her?" interposed Myra again.

"No, no, not at all, but I need hardly remind you, Myra, that in England that sort of thing simply 'isn't done.' Besides, yours was no mere flirtation. You set out to fascinate and captivate Don Carlos, to make him fall madly in love with you, and you seem to have succeeded. You admit you challenged him to kiss you——"

"He had no right to take what I said to Tony as a challenge, although I confess I said it to tantalise him."

"Humph! If I were your age, as beautiful and attractive as you, and I had dared a man to kiss me, I should feel slighted, to say the least of it, and regard him as a poltroon, if he failed to take up my challenge," commented Lady Fermanagh drily. "You can't mean to say you did not expect Don Carlos to carry out the threat or promise he made in his note, particularly as you made no protest against his having entered your bedroom?"

"I—er—I don't know what I expected," answered Myra, rather weakly. "I mean, I did not intend to give him the opportunity to carry out his threat. And I thought it best to say nothing about the note, because I was afraid to risk a scandal, and I was somehow afraid that Don Carlos would turn the tables on me. Now I have a good mind to tell Tony, and to tell him what happened to-day, and leave him to deal with Don Carlos."

"Do, by all means, my dear—if you want to make shipwreck of your life," retorted Lady Fermanagh, sardonically. "Tony will be flattered to find you were playing him off against Don Carlos at Auchinleven. And perhaps not! He may decide, on reflection, that a girl who makes love to another man, or, if you prefer it, encourages another man to make love to her, during her engagement and in the house of her fiance, might do something of the same sort after marriage in the house of her husband."

"Tony wouldn't be such a beast," exclaimed Myra. "If he dared to blame me, I'd break off my engagement and marry Don Carlos, if only to spite him."

"Humph! And supposing, after breaking off your engagement, you found that Don Carlos did not want to marry you, what a fool you'd look and feel!" responded her aunt. "My dear Myra, don't you realise that if the facts were known the world would condemn you for attempting to play fast and loose with both Tony Standish and Don Carlos de Ruiz, and the general verdict would be that it served you right to be left in the lurch. Tony would be quite justified in throwing you over, and by the time the gossips had finished your reputation would be—well, rather the worse for wear."

"Aunt Clarissa, you don't really think Tony would throw me over if he knew?" asked Myra anxiously, after a thoughtful pause. "Why, I told Tony at Auchinleven that I intended to flirt with Don Carlos and make him fall in love with me, but he would not take me seriously. I told him I meant it and was in earnest, but he only laughed. It is really all his fault. And he was so obtuse this afternoon. Surely he might have guessed what had happened."

Lady Fermanagh sat silent for a full minute, then suddenly she rose and laid her hands on Myra's shoulders.

"Myra Rostrevor, answer me truthfully," she commanded, with a searching glance. "Are you, or are you not, in love with Don Carlos?"

"I—I don't know," Myra answered, shaking her head distractedly. "I think I hate him, but if I could believe he was really sincere and in earnest I think I should love him. If I had been tempting, teasing, and tantalising him to-day, as I did when we were at Auchinleven, I could excuse him for losing his head and kissing me. To-day I didn't give him the slightest encouragement. He had shown his indifference by going away without even a word of farewell, and I suppose he kissed me in cold blood merely to fulfil his threat and his boast that he always keeps a promise."

"Cold-blooded kisses can hardly be very shocking, I should imagine," remarked Lady Fermanagh drily.

"They were not cold-blooded. He kissed me ravenously, passionately, and almost stifled me. I felt as if he were drinking the heart out of me," said Myra. "If I was sure he is as frantically in love with me as he professes to be, I could excuse him, and I might find myself falling in love with him. It is the thought that he may still only be amusing himself, gratifying his vanity and trying to make good his boast that no woman can resist him, that galls me. If I confessed myself in love with him, and he then told me he had merely been amusing himself and proving his power, I should die of shame."

"Why take the risk, Myra? You have been playing with fire, and the dice are loaded against you. That is an Irishism and a mixed metaphor, I suppose, but you know what I mean. If you lose your heart to Don Carlos de Ruiz, you lose Antony Standish, and if you subsequently discover Don Carlos is not in earnest you will be left broken-hearted, humiliated, and with your matrimonial prospects ruined."

"I have no intention of breaking my heart about Don Carlos, and don't intend to make a fool of myself, if that is what you mean," said Myra, with a sudden change of manner. "I said I'd fool Don Carlos to pay him out for asserting he had only been amusing himself with me, and I'll do it yet—if I have not already done it. If he is actually in love with me, I have the laugh on him now, in spite of what has happened."

"Myra, for goodness sake be sensible!" counselled Lady Fermanagh. "If Don Carlos is actually in love with you and you make mock of him, his love may turn to hate. And I warn you that the hatred of a Spaniard is even more dangerous than his love."

"Pooh! I'm not afraid of him, and I don't understand why I have been upsetting myself so much," exclaimed Myra, impulsively starting to her feet. "I'll get even with him. I'll go to the Cavendish's dance after all. Don Carlos is almost sure to be there, and I may get an opportunity to punish him for his impertinence."

"Myra, I do wish you would drop this folly," said her aunt. "You must realise you are running grave risks and imperilling your own happiness. It seems to me, my dear, that as well as trifling with Don Carlos, you are trifling with your own heart, and you are not playing fair with Tony."

"I mean to get even with Don Carlos," Myra responded, stubbornly, with an impatient toss of her red-gold head. "It will be amusing to see the man who boasted that no woman could resist him chagrined and broken-hearted because Myra Rostrevor has laughed at him and made his boasts seem foolish."

"You have had your warning," exclaimed Lady Fermanagh abruptly. "Don't expect any sympathy from me if you get burnt as a result of playing with fire."

She swept out of the room, and as the door closed Myra made a moue, flung herself down in the armchair again, and lit her cigarette.

"Damn him!" she said fervently.



CHAPTER VIII

So many people had been invited to the Cavendish ball that there was scarce room to dance. Myra caught sight of Don Carlos several times, and her heart beat a trifle fast when at last she saw him making his way through the crowd towards her during an interval.

"May I have the pleasure and honour of dancing the next with you, Miss Rostrevor?" he inquired, with his usual courtly bow. "The floor is becoming less crowded now the news has gone round that supper is being served."

Myra's first impulse was to snub him, but she refrained, rose without a word as the music re-started, and they glided round together to the lilting refrain of the band. Both were extremely graceful and accomplished dancers, and several other couples ceased dancing to watch them, giving them the centre of the floor.

"Are you afraid to look at me, cara mia?" whispered Don Carlos, after a few minutes. "I want to look deep into your dear blue eyes and try to read what is in your heart."

"I am afraid the result would be a shock to your overweening vanity, Don Carlos," responded Myra coldly, still avoiding his eyes. "I am very angry with you, and I am surprised you should have had the audacity to ask me to dance with you before even attempting to offer any apology for your outrageous behaviour of this afternoon."

"Dear, darling, delicious, delectable lady, why should I apologise for taking up your challenge and redeeming my promise?" Don Carlos asked. "Why profess to be offended with the man who loves you so passionately for taking a few of the kisses for which he was craving and hungering? What is it your great Shakespeare wrote that fits our case? ... Ah! I have it! ..."

He sang the words softly, fitting them to the rhythm of the air the dance-band was playing:

"'A thousand kisses buys my heart from me; And pay them at your leisure, one by one. What are ten hundred touches unto thee? Are they not quickly told and quickly gone? Say for non-payment that the debt should double; Is twenty hundred kisses such a trouble?'"

"Oh, you are an utterly outrageous and impossible man!" exclaimed Myra, half-annoyed, half-amused, and at heart a little fascinated withal. "Even if I did flirt with you at Auchinleven to amuse myself, you had no right to take my teasing seriously—you, who are such an experienced flirt and philanderer, and who do not expect women to take your love-making seriously and laugh at them if they do."

"I expect you to take my love-making seriously, Myra," he answered.

"Your expectations will not be realised, Don Carlos, and if you attempt to repeat your conduct of to-day there will be trouble," said Myra, forcing herself to meet his ardent eyes unflinchingly. "It is unsportsmanlike to try to excuse yourself by throwing the blame on me, pleading, like Adam, 'The woman tempted me.' You might at least express regret for your conduct."

"I have no regrets, Myra," murmured Don Carlos. "I have tasted the nectar of your lips, and now I hunger for a banquet of love."

"In that case you will surely die of starvation," said Myra, with a light laugh.

"Dios! how you torture me, Myra!" muttered Don Carlos frowningly. "I hoped you would tell me 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 was standing by protesting in solemn tones that she was "playing with fire."

"What an utterly absurd dream!" Myra reflected, when she woke with her heart thrilling queerly. "I wonder what particular and peculiar kink in my mental outfit made me enjoy kisses in my dreams which I hated while I was awake? How flattered Don Carlos would be if he knew!"

An hour or so later she chanced to encounter Don Carlos while she was taking her morning gallop in the Row, and he brought his horse abreast of hers, saluting in his usual gallant manner.

"You tortured me last night, Myra, but in my dreams I got full recompense," he said, after formal greetings.

"Really! How fortunate for you!" drawled Myra, with well-feigned lack of interest. "Do you flatter yourself even when you are asleep?"

"It was an extremely vivid dream, Myra," continued Don Carlos, ignoring the jocular question. "I dreamed you were in my arms, straining me close to your breast, and returning my hungry kisses with passionate ardour. We were drinking Love's cup of rapture together, my beloved and I, giving and taking all."

With her own dream still vivid in her memory; Myra was startled. Her heart seemed to miss a beat, she felt the hot colour rush to her face, and she bent forward to stroke her horse's neck lest her expression might betray her if she met Don Carlos's eyes.

"How utterly preposterous!" she commented. "However, it is said that dreams are contrary. Incidentally, I meant what I said when I told you I should refuse to talk to you if you persisted in being sentimental. Good morning!"

Being Irish, Myra Rostrevor was by nature more than a little superstitious and inclined to attach some importance to dreams and omens, and she rode away feeling just a tiny bit scared at heart, and wondering uneasily if perchance Don Carlos de Ruiz was a thought-reader.

"Sure, and I don't know what to make of you, Myra," she whispered to her own reflection in the mirror, as she changed from her riding costume into a morning frock. "I don't know what to make of you at all, at all! And I don't know what to make of Don Carlos, either. I don't know if you are in love with him or not, and I'm not sure but what if he kissed you again you might make a fool of yourself and give up the idea of making a fool of him.... Oh, if only I knew whether he is in earnest or not!"

Myra was almost afraid to attempt to analyse her own feelings and emotions, and could come to no decision concerning either herself or Don Carlos. She continued to "blow hot, blow cold" every time they met, sometimes treating him with studied coldness, at other times flirting with him beguilingly, but always taking precautions against giving him any opportunity to kiss her again.

Meanwhile Tony Standish had taken Lady Fermanagh's advice, and he was wooing Myra with all the fervour and passion of which his somewhat phlegmatic nature was capable, wooing her as if their betrothal was yet to be, instead of an accomplished fact. Hardly a day passed but he brought or sent some expensive trifle, together with flowers, chocolates, or cigarettes, with assurances of his undying affection.

His tributes of devotion made Myra feel just a trifle guilty, made her wonder, too, if Tony had decided that the love-making of Don Carlos was something more than make-believe, and he was trying to make sure of her.

"Oh, Tony, dear, you make me feel as if you were buying me!" she exclaimed one afternoon, when her lover presented her with a diamond pendant. "Why have you given me such lots of presents lately, you extravagant old thing?"

"Well, darling, I want to show you how much in love with you I am," answered Tony, looking quite bashful. "I am tremendously in love with you, Myra, honour bright, and I'd do anything to prove it. I'd—I'd give my life for you, sweetheart. Honestly, it would break my heart if I lost you."

"Tony, what makes you talk of losing me?" Myra asked quickly.

"Oh—er—nothing, really, but—er—well, you're so beautiful, and fascinating, and attractive, and all the rest of it, and I know there are several men who are in love with you and would like to cut me out if they could," explained Tony. "I say, dear, I don't mean that I think you'd let me down and go back on your promise to marry me. Er—you weren't in earnest, were you, darling, when you talked about letting Don Carlos fall in love with you at Auchinleven, and making me jealous? Please don't mind my asking, but I'm rather worried, to tell the truth."

"Worried because you think I may be in love with Don Carlos?"

"No, Myra, not exactly, but because I know he is in love with you. He told me so himself last night."

"He told you so himself!" exclaimed Myra, startled.

"Yes. Placed me in a rather difficult position. I suppose it was really rather sporty of him. I don't know if I should tell you. He called on me and said he was afraid he'd have to ask me to release him from his promise to be my guest on the yachting tour. Naturally I asked him why, and he told me frankly that he had fallen in love with you."

Myra's heart beat a trifle faster as she listened.

"Said he thought it was only right I should know, and that he supposed it wouldn't be playing the game according to English ideas if he made love to you and tried to win you from me while he was my guest," continued Tony. "I didn't know quite what to say, except that I was sorry."

He looked at Myra expectantly and a little anxiously as he paused, and Myra laughed involuntarily. But her heart was still behaving rather oddly and she felt her face flushing.

"How absurd, Tony!" she exclaimed. "Do you think he was in earnest?"

"Oh, yes, he seemed to be in deadly earnest," replied Tony. "Er—I didn't quite know what to do about it, as I said before, but it suddenly occurred to me that if I let Don Carlos withdraw his acceptance of my invitation it might seem like an admission that I had not complete faith in you and was afraid of losing you. You see what I mean, Myra?"

"More or less," said Myra, rather bewildered. "But surely you don't mean that you pressed him to come, knowing he would go on making love to me?"

"I didn't exactly press him, but I told him that if he felt he must decline my invitation because he was in love with you, we should naturally have to decline his invitation to Spain for the same reason," responded Tony. "I told him he ought to have known you were only amusing yourself to pay him out, and that he should have known better than lose his heart after you had objected to his attempting to make love to you. So eventually he laughed and said if I wasn't afraid of him as a rival he would come. I hope you don't mind, darling. I told him he hadn't an earthly hope."

"It is nice to know you are so sure of me that you have no fear of a rival," commented Myra drily, after a momentary pause.

"I say, Myra, do you mean that, or are you being sarcastic?" asked Tony. "What could I do in the circumstances? Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned the matter to you at all, but—er—I thought you might feel rather flattered to know that you have made another conquest, and you know you said you weren't in the least afraid of Don Carlos. I thought, too, that you'd take it rather as a compliment if I showed I had complete faith in you. You didn't really want me to display jealousy, did you?"

"I don't know, Tony," replied Myra evasively. "If the positions were reversed and I were engaged to Don Carlos and you had been making love to me, I expect he would have killed you by now, and perhaps strangled me into the bargain."

"Englishmen don't do that sort of thing," remarked Tony, looking hurt. "If you mean you would prefer me to behave like an emotional foreigner——"

"Oh, Tony, dear, don't be absurd!" interrupted Myra, her mood changing. "I see how you looked at the matter, and I know I should be glad you have such faith in me. But don't you think Don Carlos may regard your indifference to his rivalry as being almost in the nature of a challenge?"

"I hadn't thought of it that way, Myra, but in any case I know you'll be able to keep Don Carlos at a distance if he should try to make love to you again," answered Tony. "Sure you're not vexed with me, dear?"

"I don't know whether I'm vexed or pleased, amused or scared, but I am certainly thrilled," said Myra. "To think that Don Carlos, who boasted that no woman could resist him, should confess to you, that he has lost his heart to me!"

"I couldn't help feeling rather sorry for the poor chap," remarked Tony. "I should feel ghastly if I had fallen in love with you after you had become engaged to another man, and knew there was no hope."

"Don't be too sure there is no hope for Don Carlos," said Myra provocatively; but Tony's look of piteous dismay caused her to relent almost instantly, and she kissed him.

Long after Tony had gone, Myra sat lost in thought, her heart still thrilling. Don Carlos's confession was, of course, a compliment and tribute to her powers of fascination, and naturally Myra was flattered; but she was also more than a little puzzled.

She could not quite fathom Don Carlos's motive for telling Tony Standish he was in love with her, and she realised that Tony had been cleverer than he knew. By telling her of Don Carlos's confession and assuring her that he had complete faith in her he had, as it were, placed her on her honour not to forsake him.

"I wonder what wise Aunt Clarissa would advise?" mused Myra. "I must tell her that although she said I was playing with fire it is Don Carlos, apparently, who has got burnt."

"You certainly appear to have reason to flatter yourself on your success as a coquette, Myra," commented Lady Fermanagh drily, after listening attentively to Myra's story of Don Carlos's confession to Tony, and, incidentally, without making any mention of the fact that she had already heard the story from Tony himself over the telephone. "You have the laugh on Don Carlos de Ruiz now, my dear, but don't forget the old proverb that he who laughs last laughs best. Actually, it is not a laughing matter at all, but a crime to break a man's heart in jest."

"You don't really suppose that Don Carlos is heart-broken, do you, Aunt?" asked Myra.

"Frankly, I do not," responded Lady Fermanagh. "I don't quite know what to make of it. My idea is that Don Carlos probably guessed you had boasted you would make him fall in love with you, and he may either be pandering to your vanity by leading you to believe you have succeeded in your object, or else trying to make a fool of you. Be careful, my dear! It isn't safe to trifle with men of the type of Don Carlos de Ruiz, as I have told you before."

"Pouf! If he has actually fallen in love with me, he is more likely to make a fool of himself than of me," Myra exclaimed.

"One never knows," Lady Fermanagh responded. "I believe you are half in love with him as it is, Myra, and if he cared to exercise all his powers he might be able to induce you to break with Tony."

Myra shook her red-gold head, but at heart she knew her aunt might be right.

"Your idea, as you have admitted, was to make Don Carlos fall in love with you in earnest, because he had made love to you in jest," continued Lady Fermanagh. "You wanted to have the satisfaction of 'turning him down'—to use the ultra-modern expression—and laughing at him for losing his heart. Take care, my dear Myra, that he does not turn the tables on you again."

"How could he?" asked Myra, feeling somewhat piqued.

"Well, it might amuse him to protest that he is heart-broken, to persuade you to take pity on him and forsake Tony, to confess yourself in love with him, and then in the end to remind you of his boast that no woman could resist him, and explain that he did not want you, had merely been testing his powers and taking revenge for your coquetry."

"Surely, he wouldn't be such a beast!"

"He might—and more particularly if he is in earnest," said Lady Fermanagh gravely. "No man likes being laughed at, except when he is appearing on the stage as a comedian. A man in love is particularly sensitive to ridicule. I wonder how many murders have been committed in Spain as a result of girls inducing men to make fools of themselves?"

"Oh, Aunt, don't be absurd!" interposed Myra. "Are you suggesting that Don Carlos may murder me? Do you anticipate his plunging a stiletto or some sort of Spanish dagger into my heart, or committing suicide on our nice clean doorstep, because I do not reciprocate his passion?"

She trilled out a laugh and her aunt had, perforce, to smile.

"One never knows," she said again. "My advice to you is not to take any further risks, and not to attempt to gloat over Don Carlos. And I think you should fix the date for your marriage to Tony Standish and make a good resolution to break no more hearts."

"And join a Dorcas society, and wear flannel next the skin, and woollen stockings and flat-heeled shoes!" Myra added frivolously. "Thank you so much, Aunt Clarissa!"



CHAPTER IX

Sure of her own powers, but uncertain of her own heart, Myra could not make up her mind in advance what attitude to adopt towards Don Carlos at their next meeting, and wondered what his attitude would be towards her. Would he profess to be heart-broken, or continue to make passionate love to her at every opportunity?

She was left wondering, for Don Carlos left London that very day, after explaining to Tony that he had been called to Paris on important business.

"Said he might be away for a week or two, but promised he would make a point of getting back in time to join our yachting party," Tony informed Myra. "Just as well, perhaps, what? Give him time to get over having fallen in love with you, darling. Asked me to give you his humble and dutiful regards—I believe that was his expression—and to assure you he never broke a promise. I suppose he meant his promise to be back in time to join us at Southhampton."

"I suppose so," Myra equivocated. "I don't believe he is in love with me, Tony."

"I don't see how anyone could help being in love with you, darling," responded Tony gallantly. "My idea is that poor old Carlos is hard hit, and has probably gone to Paris to pull himself together, so to speak, and to avoid meeting you for a bit."

"Paris is so consoling!" commented Myra satirically. "Just the sort of quiet, soothing place where a heart-broken lover can find solace! I shall waste no sympathy on Don Carlos."

She was piqued and puzzled, and a little exasperated by the thought that Don Carlos was playing a joke on her.

"He probably thinks I am deeply in love with him, and flatters himself I shall be hurt and grieved by his sudden departure," reflected Myra. "Perhaps he thinks he is paying me back in my own coin, and he will find me ready to fall into his arms, so to speak, on his return. If so, I can promise him a disappointment."

She tried to put Don Carlos out of her mind, but she found herself thinking of him continually. Often in her dreams she was again enfolded in his arms with his lips crushed on her own, and she would wake with her heart throbbing wildly.

Tony never managed to set her heart throbbing in the same way. Myra wished he could and would. Perhaps it was her dreams of Don Carlos that caused her to be particularly nice to Tony during the next week or two, and to try to persuade herself that she was really in love with him.

No word came from Don Carlos, but he duly presented himself aboard the Killarney, Tony Standish's yacht, on the appointed day. And he looked as little like a heart-broken, forlorn lover as anyone could imagine. Indeed, he seemed to be in exceptionally high spirits, talked gaily of the enjoyable time he had had in Paris, explaining that he had combined business with pleasure.

He made no attempt to speak to Myra alone on the first night aboard, and joined a party of men playing poker in the smoking-room, in preference to dancing.

"He is really the most baffling and exasperating creature," Myra told herself. "I expect he thinks he is vexing me by being so casual, the conceited fellow. I am annoyed with myself for feeling annoyed."

She encountered Don Carlos next morning, when she went up on deck from her state room to take a stroll before breakfast, and he greeted her smilingly.

"Buenos dias, senorita," he said, with a gallant bow. "I start the day well by meeting you, my Myra. Has absence made your heart grow fonder, my heart's desire?"

"Yes, I am fonder of Tony than ever," answered Myra lightly. "I think I really ought to thank you, Don Carlos, for pretending to Tony that you had fallen in love with me. I was vastly amused, but Tony actually took you seriously, and he has been the most adorably devoted lover ever since. I am half inclined to suspect that you must have given Tony some lessons in love-making!"

Don Carlos flashed a searching glance at her, and his smile faded.

"If I thought that Standish would hold you to your promise to marry him, knowing that you love me, I should kill him," he said, quietly, calmly and deliberately.

"In that case, Tony is a doomed man," commented Myra, with a mocking laugh. "But perhaps the fact that I do not love you will induce you to spare his life," she added hastily. "Don't you find it rather difficult to be melodramatic and to talk farcical nonsense before breakfast, Don Carlos?"

"I am debating with myself how best to get rid of Standish," responded Don Carlos unsmilingly. "An opportunity may present itself during this cruise. I do not wish to kill him, and would much prefer him to surrender you to me voluntarily. But if he is obstinate, and if you persist in refusing to obey the dictates of your heart to break with him, he, as you have said, is a doomed man."

So earnest was his tone, so serious his manner, that Myra felt her heart contract, but she forced herself to treat his speech as a joke.

"Don Carlos, you are an impossible person!" she exclaimed. "Do you want me to rush away and warn Tony that his life is in danger? Shall I ask the captain to order two of the crew to play the part of Scotland Yard detectives, shadow your every movement and keep guard over Tony? You don't really expect me to take you seriously, do you?"

Before Don Carlos could answer, Tony, together with two or three other members of the party, came up the companion-way.

"Hallo, people, what are you looking so solemn about?" cried Tony cheerily. "Not feeling sea-sick, are you, what?"

"Good morning, darling, so glad you've come," said Myra, and tilted up her face for a kiss. She seldom greeted her betrothed with a kiss if there were others present, but she guessed the display of affection might annoy Don Carlos. "This dreadful man has been trying to make my blood run cold," she added smilingly, with a challenging glance at Don Carlos. "I think he must have spent most of his time in Paris at the Grand Guignol, and it has turned his brain. I'm afraid he is suffering from some sort of homicidal mania, poor fellow."

"I warn you, good people, and you, mine host in particular, that I am in a murderous mood," said Don Carlos gaily. "Miss Rostrevor has driven me insane, and I may go Berserker at any moment."

"Splendid, old chap!" laughed Tony. "What about attacking the breakfast with savage fury? There goes the gong...."

It was a beautifully calm day, and after breakfast most of the company assembled on the promenade deck, some to lounge and smoke and chat or read, others to play quoits or deck billiards.

For once in a way Myra did not feel particularly energetic, and she sat down on a comfortable deck chair beside her aunt and several other women and girls seated in a group gossiping and exchanging badinage with two or three men of the party standing by their chairs or lounging against the rail.

Tony Standish and Don Carlos were standing together, both leaning against the rail, and Myra lay back in her chair with her hands clasped behind her head, studying and comparing them through half-closed but keenly-observant eyes.

She noticed that as Don Carlos talked and laughed he was fingering a bolt under the rail behind him, saw him slide the bolt back, and she was in the act of sitting up and calling out to him to be careful, to point out that the part of the rail against which he and Tony were leaning was that which is swung open to make way for a gangway, when Don Carlos straightened himself and took a pace forward.

The rail swung loose at the same instant, and Tony, who had been leaning heavily against it with his arms folded, was precipitated backwards into the sea!

Screams of horror and consternation broke from all the women, and Myra sprang to her feet and made a dash towards the side of the yacht. Whether or not she intended to fling herself into the sea in the hope of rescuing Tony, she could not afterwards have told. As it was, Don Carlos seized her, hurled her aside, and flung off his coat.

"Man overboard!" he yelled at the top of his powerful voice, and as he did so he dived overside.

His cry was heard and repeated instantly by several of the crew. There was a clang of bells in the engine room as the chief officer on the bridge shot over the indicator, signalling "Full Speed Astern," at the same time shouting orders that sent men racing to swing out a boat from the davits, while others ran with life-buoys to the stern of the vessel, ready to fling them to the men in the water if the opportunity presented itself.

The Killarney had been going full speed ahead when Standish went overboard, and at first Myra, when she began to recover her scattered wits, could see no trace of either Tony or Don Carlos. Then she glimpsed a black head, and saw Don Carlos swimming strongly towards a fair head, which she knew was Tony. A pair of hands shot up and the fair head disappeared just when Don Carlos had almost reached it, and a sob of anguish broke from Myra's white lips.

"He's gone down! He's drowning!" she gasped, and as the words passed her lips Don Carlos also disappeared—to reappear, however, a minute later, swimming on his back and supporting Tony.

He seemed to be having difficulty in keeping afloat, and it seemed to all those anxiously watching that he might go under before help could reach him. Again the engine-room bells clanged, and this time the signal from the bridge was "Stop"; the boat, fully-manned, was lowered with a run, and at the same time one of the sailors at the stern of the yacht slung a lifebuoy overside with such force and accuracy that it hit the water with a splash within ten yards of Don Carlos, who propelled himself towards it, and with its aid succeeded in supporting himself and Tony until the boat reached him and he and Tony were safely hauled aboard.

Orders were shouted from the bridge, sailors scurried to let down the accommodation ladder and stood by with ropes, awaiting the return of the boat, which was being rapidly rowed back to the Killarney.

The boat came alongside at last, and Tony, who appeared to be exhausted and almost unconscious, was with difficulty hoisted up the ladder to the deck, where the ship's doctor was already waiting with restoratives.

Someone started a cheer as Don Carlos, dripping wet but smiling, came up the ladder, and the cheer was taken up by practically everyone around, save Myra, who was standing tense and white, her brain in a turmoil.

"Bravo, Don Carlos, bravo!" shouted an excited and enthusiastic youngster, rushing forward and trying to shake Don Carlos's hand; but Don Carlos waved him off with an impatient frown and bent over Tony, who had opened his eyes and was making an effort to sit up.

"Is he all right, doctor?" he asked.

"Yes, I think he is only suffering from shock, sir," the doctor answered, unfastening Tony's collar, which seemed to be choking him.

"Thanks," gasped Tony faintly and painfully. "I—I'll be all right presently. Think I must have hit my head on something. Give me a drink, will you?"

The doctor gave him brandy, had him carried to his cabin, where he examined him carefully and discovered that he was not injured. He surmised that Tony had probably been partly stunned by falling flat on the water when he toppled overboard, and "knocked silly"—to use Tony's own expression—and he was able to tell the passengers that their host would probably be all right again within an hour or two.

"Thank heaven for that!" exclaimed Lady Fermanagh fervently. "Myra, darling, you look ghastly. Doctor, please give Miss Rostrevor something to pull her together."

"I'm quite all right, thanks," said Myra—and promptly disproved her own statement by dropping limply into a deck-chair, covering her face with her hands, and bursting into tears.

She speedily recovered herself, however, after she had been helped to her state-room and persuaded to swallow some sal volatile, but she still felt shaken and unnerved.

"Better lie down and rest for a little while until you have quite recovered from the shock, Myra dear," advised Lady Fermanagh. "Don't worry. You heard the doctor say that Tony will be quite all right and isn't hurt."

"I don't understand it," said Myra, more to herself than to her aunt. "Don Carlos meant to kill Tony, and yet he saved him. Does he want to make himself out to be a hero simply to flatter still further his own vanity, or is he trying to frighten me?"

"My dear Myra, what on earth are you talking about?" inquired Lady Fermanagh in concern.

"Don Carlos undid the bolt of the rail against which Tony was leaning," explained Myra. "I saw him do it, but had no time to warn Tony. He threatened this morning that he would murder Tony rather than let me marry him. What can I do, Aunt?"

Lady Fermanagh shook her grey head, looking greatly concerned.

"I heard Don Carlos say something about being in a murderous mood, and perhaps the accident to Tony was only an unfortunate coincidence," she said.

"It was not an accident, Aunt," insisted Myra. "I tell you I saw him slip back the bolt that holds the rail."

"But that may have been accidental, Myra," suggested her aunt. "Don Carlos was talking at the time, and he may not have realised what he was doing. You know how often one fiddles with something while one is talking or thinking. Why, you are twiddling your necklace now, Myra, without knowing you are doing it, and a minute ago you were twisting your engagement ring round and round your finger. If Don Carlos had been in earnest about murdering Tony is it likely he would have gone to his rescue immediately the accident happened and risked his own life as he did? Why, he could easily have let Tony drown?"

"Yes, that's true," agreed Myra, with a despairing gesture. "I don't know what to make of it. I don't know what I should do. I feel now that Tony's life is actually in danger. Should I warn him, tell him of Don Carlos's threat?"

"No, I think not, Myra, unless he says something more which leads you to believe he meant the threat seriously," said Lady Fermanagh, after a thoughtful pause. "Oh, my dear, I do wish you had taken my warning not to play with fire, and I do hope Don Carlos was not in earnest!"



CHAPTER X

When Myra, having recovered herself, went from her state-room into the saloon a little later, it was to find that Don Carlos had, so to speak, "spiked her guns," had she intended to denounce him as being responsible for the "accident" to Tony.

The captain of the Killarney, it appeared, had held an inquiry as to who was responsible for having left the rail unfastened and charged two members of the crew with neglect. On learning this, Don Carlos had at once interviewed the captain and taken the blame upon himself, explaining that he remembered fingering the bolt while he was talking, and doubtless unfastened it.

He had told his fellow guests the same thing when they praised and complimented him for his gallant rescue.

"Don Carlos is a true sportsman," said one of the men of the party to Myra. "My own opinion is that he has made up the yarn about unfastening the bolt, just to prevent us making too much of a hero of him and to save any of the crew from getting into trouble. He has been in to see Tony, I hear, told him it was all his fault and asked him to accept his apologies. Of course, his idea is to try to prevent Tony from thanking him. But I guess you will thank him, Miss Rostrevor!"

"Perhaps it would please him better if I reproached him," responded Myra, whereat her companion laughed.

Don Carlos was seated opposite her at lunch, but Myra did not attempt either to thank or blame him, deciding to wait until he himself referred to the "accident," and discover, if possible, what was in his mind.

After lunch, most of the other members of the party settled down to spend the afternoon playing bridge, but Myra went on deck and ensconced herself in a comfortable chair in a sheltered spot to read and think.

She had not been there more than a few minutes when Don Carlos appeared beside her chair with a cushion in his hand. Without a word he tossed the cushion down on the boat-deck at Myra's feet, sat down on it, and rested his dark head against Myra's knees. He did it all so deliberately and with such calm assurance that Myra was somehow amused in spite of herself and laughed involuntarily.

"Evidently the poor man is so overcome by sea-sickness that he doesn't know what he is doing and needs a nurse!" she exclaimed. "Shall I call for a steward?"

She slewed her chair round as she spoke, and laughed again as Don Carlos, suddenly deprived of the support of her knees, fell backward. He did not seem in the least disconcerted, however, and merely rolled over on his side, supported his head on one hand, and gazed up at Myra quizzically.

"That was rather the equivalent of unfastening the bolt of the rail, was it not, Myra?" he drawled. "I hope you will now proceed to rescue me from the slough of despond by telling me that you love me and will marry me?"

"You said once that I would be a suitable mate for El—er—what's his name?—El Cojuelo Diablo, isn't it?—your pet brigand, I mean," retorted Myra. "Now you are presumably suggesting that I am a fit mate for a man guilty of attempted murder!"

Don Carlos smiled enigmatically.

"El Diablo Cojuelo is the correct name, Myra," he said in the same lazy, unmoved tone. "If I fail to conquer you and teach you the meaning of love, perhaps El Diablo Cojuelo will. Beloved, I should love to rest my head against your knees and feel your fingers caressing my hair."

"Don't be so utterly ridiculous!" exclaimed Myra.

"In novels, as you know," went on Don Carlos, paying no heed to her protest, "the fair heroine usually marries the gallant who rescues her, or her half-witted brother, or her aged parent, from drowning. You can give the plot a new turn by marrying me for saving your lover from drowning. Mr. Standish was good enough to say that it was 'demmed sporty of me' to rescue him and that he owes me his life. Why not suggest to him, Myra, that he can best show his gratitude by surrendering to me his greatest pride and treasure—you?"

"Your audacity is only equalled by your conceit," Myra commented. "Let me warn you——"

"Let me warn you, you siren, that I shall go to any lengths to win you," interrupted Don Carlos with sudden passion. "This morning's incident was a warning to prove to you I am in earnest. Dios! why do you torture me so? At times you make me hate you almost as much as I love you!"

He sprang to his feet, picked up the cushion on which he had been reclining and hurled it overboard, then strode away without another word, leaving Myra thrilled and more than a little scared.

"It rather looks as if I shall have to take him seriously after all!" she soliloquised. "I wonder what I should do?"

She was left wondering and sorely perplexed, for within an hour she found Don Carlos obviously carrying on a violent flirtation with another girl, and at dinner, at which Tony Standish appeared looking little the worse for his adventure, he was the life and soul of the party.

After dinner he delighted the company by singing some Spanish songs, accompanying himself on the guitar, and he was enthusiastically applauded.

"Why, old chap, you ought to be the star baritone in Grand Opera!" cried Tony. "Sing us another, please."