"No," she cried. "He would never know that I feared for his safety. Let me try, Commandatore. Give a fair chance—only that!"
He meditated a while, then he tapped Myra's arm with his finger.
"You shall have your chance," he said. "But remember it is your business to keep him to his profession. He has no time for lovemaking. You shall have your chance, but be sure you use it wisely. If you do, the day may come when I shall say to Guy, there is your wife—and the wife will be the child I have picked from the gutter and educated and treated as my own."
There was a brooding menace in the tone in which he finished, and the woman feared to waken him to speech again. At last, he said harshly:
"Have you no thanks, Myra?"
"You frighten me sometimes, Commandatore," she answered timidly. "I cannot understand you."
"You will do so some day," he replied. He seemed amused at the idea, for he laughed and spoke good-humouredly. "If you make good use of your chances, my girl, everything will become clear to you. You have wit as well as beauty, Myra. Make use of them both. He is of an age to be caught."
Through the open window the voice of Big Ben solemnly tolled three.
The light died out of the woman's face. "Cruel," she murmured in a tense, hoarse whisper. "It was cruel to mock me so. Something has happened to him. The hour has passed. Oh! Guy, Guy!"
Lynton Hora turned upon her fiercely. "Is this a specimen of your self-control?" he said. "Haven't you learned that in the profession Guy has adopted a thousand trivial events may supply reason for delay? Mind, if I have any snivelling I withdraw my promise."