"Am I beautiful, Guy?" she asked.
His brain whirled. He fought against the web which seemed to be enveloping him against his will. He did not know that the languor which possessed him was largely due to reaction after the mental and physical strain he had so recently undergone. His voice was husky as he evaded the question.
"What strange devil possesses you to-night, Myra?"
"I am beautiful, am I not?" she repeated.
She had drawn herself up to his knees, and knelt beside his chair.
"You have never told me I am beautiful," she whispered coaxingly. Her hair brushed his cheeks. Her lips were very near his. Without his will, it seemed, his hand fell upon her firm white arm, and he thrilled at the touch.
"Myra, Myra, you will steal away my soul."
The cry was wrung from him.
Her eyes flashed. It was as if the fire she had spoken of had burst into a blaze.
"I have given you mine long ago," she answered. Her arms were thrown about him. "Guy, don't you know, haven't you seen how I love you?" She whispered the words tremulously while her drooping lids half veiled the passion glowing in her eyes, and her bosom rose and fell stormily. "No one can ever love you as I love you, Guy."