To Myra the clang of the door as it shut seemed like a death-knell.
Don Carlos took off his cowl and flung it aside, smoothed his jet-black hair with his hands, and drew a long breath. His eyes and expression were inscrutable as he gazed fixedly at Myra.
"Exit Mr. Antony Standish," he said slowly, after a pause. "One chapter of your life is closed, Myra. Now another opens, the most wonderful chapter of all, in which you will fulfil your destiny."
Myra suddenly found herself cold and trembling, and to gain time and avoid Don Carlos's eyes she crossed the room to the radiator and held out her shaking hands to its warmth.
"Are you frightened, Myra mine?" asked Don Carlos gently crossing to her side. "Are you still afraid of love?"
"If this is your idea of love, I hate it!" responded Myra with sudden passion. "You have humiliated me until I feel that I am less than the dust. What greater humiliation could you inflict on any woman than to prove to her that the man who professed to love her would surrender her to a bandit? You have humiliated me as much as Tony Standish, and perhaps you have further humiliations in store."
"If you have a sense of proportion, you should thank me instead of reproaching me for proving Standish to be at heart a knave," Don Carlos retorted, the hard note creeping into his voice again. "If you tell me you still love him, and prefer him to me, I will send you back to him at once. Can you truthfully say that you still love him and would marry him if you were free?"
Myra shook her red-gold head despairingly, and sank down into a corner of the couch with a sigh.
"If he were the only man on earth, I would not marry him now," she answered. "But that does not alter the case or excuse your conduct."
"I do not understand, Myra," said Don Carlos. "It was only because you had promised to marry Standish that you hardened your heart against love and me. You have surrendered to love now, at last, and——"