"Or your lover," he added coldly.
"Your heart is iron," she murmured despairingly.
He laughed aloud. "Or non-existent," he said. "It was stolen from me years ago, and I have forgotten what it was like to be possessed of one. Now I have only my profession—and in that I am first. You admit that, Myra?"
"I admit that," she replied sullenly.
"Why should I not train my successor to take my place when my day comes?"
The woman in the listener cried out instinctively "Because he has what you lack—a heart."
He smiled grimly. "It is easily lost, Myra. What if I should say to you some day: Take it from him, toss it away, trample on it, break it, or store it away and treasure it with your trinkets—do as you like with it?"
"You would——" She rose from her seat and faced him with extended arms. Her lips were slightly parted. The shadows had flitted away from her eyes. Her bosom rose stormily from its gauze veilings. Her lithe form was poised expectantly.
"By Jove, you are beautiful, Myra," he answered.
"I am glad of it—glad," she cried exultantly.