"You do me less than justice," she said. "Have I not always been obedient? You have never bade me please myself. Always it has been, some day if you are dutiful, Myra, you shall have the chance. I have waited and waited, and now you have nothing but scorn."
Hora rose, and, passing behind the girl, bent over her chair.
"It may not be too late yet," he said. "You remember when I said to you that the day might come when I should bid you take Guy's heart from him, toss it away, trample on it, break it, or store it away with your trinkets—do with it as you please? That day has come, Myra." His voice whispered, almost hissed, the latter words in her ear.
"It is too late," she cried in reply.
"It is not too late," insisted Hora passionately. "Too late is the excuse of cowardice. Guy will come back. It will be your duty to keep him, to make him forget all else but yourself."
"But he cares nothing for me," she cried.
"That is your fault," he answered readily. "Heaven! You a woman and hold yourself so cheaply. Look in the glass and compare what you see there with the women you meet day by day." His voice dropped to a whisper again. "Guy's eyes have been closed to your beauty. Open them. He has yet to learn that a man's will dies when a woman's arms are around him, and her lips are pressed against his. Teach him the lesson, Myra, for I tell you that if such a passion as yours does not awaken a response in his heart, he is much less than man. You want to know how to make victory certain? Take lesson of Delilah, but do not let too many opportunities pass. Remember that once you win him he is won forever. I am on your side."
Myra listened, fascinated by Hora's subtle suggestions. He ceased speaking and stole softly out of the room. She did not hear him depart. Her mind was in a tumult. There was joy in the thought that the Commandatore had at last not merely given her permission to win Guy, but had urged her to the conquest. There was dread lest another, the unknown rival, should already have won him. There was doubt in her mind that she might fail, but that was tempered with a knowledge of her own beauty. She hastened to her own room and asked the mirror for information. Yes, beauty of face and form were both hers. Gladly would she have laid her beauties at Guy's feet, but to use them to entrap him—a flood of crimson overwhelmed her at the thought. And yet, rather than another should take him from her, there was no shame to which she would not cheerfully submit. Even if Guy should scorn her, she would still have tasted the fierce joy of possession.
Cunningly had Lynton Hora made use of his knowledge of the girl's complex nature. He had heaped fuel upon the flames of her desire, he had artfully suggested that it was within her power to light an answering flame in Guy's heart. He had taunted her with cowardice in submitting without effort to a rival's success; he had even recalled her humble origin to her mind as if he would make it clear that she could not stoop to conquer. And the poison which he had dropped in her ear entered into her veins until it filled her whole being. But Guy did not return.