CHAPTER XIIIPOISONED WORDS
A hundred times a day Myra told herself that she would forget Guy, that she would tear every tender memory of him from her heart, and a hundred times a day her heart cried out passionately that forgetfulness were impossible, since every time she saw him her hunger for his love grew fiercer. There came a day when she realised that it was impossible to persuade herself that she might ever forget, and, when she thus surrendered herself to the bitter-sweet reflection of the folly of bestowing a love which was unreturned, she realised also that certainly and surely Guy was drifting further away from her.
If he had remained under the same roof, she would have been content for the relationship of brother and sister to endure, but, when she could no longer watch over his outgoings and incomings, she became possessed of a devouring desire to know how and where he spent his time. With a woman's intuition she guessed that he could not remain fancy free. He was not that type of man. She knew that to him the feminine complement would inevitably be sought and found. She had thought that he might have found that complement in her. When Hora had told her that she had been too near Guy, she had trusted his knowledge of the world, but after Guy had been living away from them for a month,and he had shown no alteration in his demeanour, she told herself that Hora had merely lied to her to prevent her protesting against a plan which was to place Guy out of her reach. She thought she saw that plan maturing as the weeks passed and Guy's visits became fewer and fewer. Hora did not apparently mind when he only came in for a brief half-hour in the morning during a whole week, and made that visit merely to announce that he was going out of town on the following day, and was uncertain when he would return.
Myra remembered that six months previously he would have acted very differently. Then any plan formulating in his mind would have been discussed between all of them, then she would have known where he was going, and when he might be expected to return.
She did Lynton Hora an injustice. He was in reality as much perturbed as herself at the alteration in Guy's demeanour. But he could await the explanation with more equanimity, since he had taken steps to discover the reason. He did not for a moment suppose that Guy's opinions were undergoing any change. Even, as Myra, he suspected a feminine reason for Guy's reserve on the subject of his movements. He did not attempt to force a confidence from the young man; he was far too astute. He had no belief in confidences that were not volunteered.
Guy was glad that he had not been asked for an explanation as to his movements. He felt ashamed that he could have accepted an invitation to the house of his supposed father's enemy. Yet he could not have resisted the opportunity which would be afforded him of spending whole days in the sweet companionship of Meriel Challys. So, after hisacceptation of the invitation given him he had stayed away from Westminster Mansions. He had not thought of Myra at all. They had been boy and girl together, confidantes, playmates, brother and sister. The idea of any other relationship had never for a moment crossed his mind, and when he bade her a careless good-bye and mechanically kissed her cheek he had not the slightest suspicion that her heart was in a tumult, that at the faintest encouragement she would have thrown herself into his arms and offered her lips.
She gave no indication of the emotion which swayed her then. But all day she brooded over the coldness of the farewell alone in her room. Not with tears, the time for that relief was not yet come.
Hora had observed, but said nothing. But when she did not make her appearance at the dinner-table he went to her room. The door was locked. He began to be afraid. But she answered to his knocking that she had a headache and could not eat. He reasoned with her, and commanded that she should join him at the table. She was on the point of refusing, but habit was strong. She obeyed his peremptory request, though sullenly. Hora took no notice of her mood, while the meal was being served, but when it was over and Myra rose to leave he rose too and followed her. She went direct towards her own room. He checked her.
"I must speak to you to-night, Myra," he said. "I have something important to say to you."
She passed through the door which Hora held open for her without a word and threw herself into a chair. She anticipated some reproach, but she was far too miserable to care for reproaches.
Hora was silent awhile after he had entered and seated himself opposite her. Then he spoke sharply. "What have you been saying or doing to Guy to drive him away from his home?"
The suddenness, the preposterous nature, of the charge aroused Myra as nothing else could have done. Her lethargy vanished. The colour flashed to her cheeks and the light to her eyes, though surprise tied her tongue so that Hora had time to repeat the query.
"What have I done to Guy?" she answered. "What do you mean? Do you think that I—that I—would do anything to send him away?"
"I can conceive of no other reason why he should have so deserted his home of late," answered Hora coldly. He was deliberately provoking a storm, and it burst upon him.
"I am not quite the fool you suppose me to be, Commandatore," she cried hotly. "You cannot impose upon me with the shallow pretence that you think I am responsible for Guy's absence. I am not blind. I can see plainly enough that your intention has been to get Guy away and there can only be one motive for your wishing to do so. You think he can do far better for himself than to mate with a girl you picked up from the gutter."
"Suppose I have thought so; what then?" asked Hora. "What cause have you for complaint?"
"None," she answered, her voice full of bitterness. "Save that you have allowed me to live in a fool's paradise, that you have encouraged me to believe that one day the impossible might happen, that you have encouraged me to believe that there was no one you would so welcome asdaughter as myself. I don't know why you should have instilled such a belief in my mind, Commandatore, unless you have hated me all the time. You must have done so, and now you should be glad. You have made me suffer—well, now you can gloat over the thought."
"Made you suffer, have I?" answered Hora scornfully. "You don't know what suffering is. The vapourings of a love-sick girl. Bah! I have no patience with such sentimental bleatings."
Myra rose from her chair, pale now with anger, "And now you insult me," she cried.
He would have interrupted her, but she overpowered his words with a torrent of her own. "Oh, you have the right to insult me as you please; I don't question it. Did you not buy me, as you have told me often enough, body and soul for a piece of gold and a bottle of gin. The master cannot insult the slave, you will say. I suppose I ought to smile at your reproaches, but when you accuse me of having driven Guy away—it is too much, Commandatore. I cannot bear that accusation, at least."
She dropped limply into the chair from which she had risen. Her face fell forward into her hands, and her whole body was shaken with a storm of sobs.
Hora was silent. He had provoked the storm. He waited for its subsidence before he broached the subject he had in his mind. Presently tears came to Myra's relief, the crystal drops broke through her fingers. She lay back in the chair exhausted by the cyclone of passion.
"I have something yet to say, Myra," remarked Hora quietly. "I believe you when you say that you have done nothing to drive Guy away, but that belief makes it necessaryto look for another explanation. Guy is of the age when there is only one possible explanation. He is blind to your beauty, Myra; have you any idea as to any other woman who is likely to have attracted him?"
There was a subtle meaning in Hora's voice which arrested Myra's wandering attention. She looked up. Tears had reddened her eyes, a hardness came into her face. She was almost ugly. She crushed her handkerchief into a ball.
"What do you mean, Commandatore?" she asked. Then, as she met Hora's eyes, she bent forward to him, "You know something, you know something." She forced the words from between clenched teeth.
Hora made no answer, and she continued, "You need not trouble about breaking it gently, Commandatore. Who is it?"
The Commandatore was unmoved by her emotion.
"I am asking you, Myra. As yet I have only a suspicion. I was wondering whether you could not give me confirmation."
"Don't play with me any longer, Commandatore," she pleaded. "I am not a child."
He seemed to be moved by the appeal, for he answered with animation, "Indeed, Myra, you do me an injustice. I know nothing certainly, I only suspect; and I am blaming you, Myra, you—for allowing Guy to be taken from us."
She gazed at him stupidly, while she repeated his words, "You are blaming me?"
"Yes," he answered, "I am blaming you. You are young, you are beautiful. Day by day you have been in Guy's company, and yet you have allowed him to bestolen away from us. If you have not driven him away, at least you have made no effort to keep him."
Myra was silent. Hora was speaking vehemently and, though she had learned to doubt his every word, yet it was difficult to doubt his sincerity now. The man continued:
"You have told me you love. I doubt if you can know the meaning of the word. Love does not sit with hands folded idly while the beloved is stolen away. Love fights for existence against all rivals. It is insistent. It will not be denied. Beauty is its weapon. The knowledge of the primitive instinct of a man to a maid is a sufficient education in strategy. Are you such a fool that you did not see that it was in your power to have kept Guy at your will?"
Myra was forced to protest. "To thrust myself on Guy. To be repulsed—the shame of it, Commandatore," she answered weakly.
"Bah!" replied Hora. "A man will fight for a woman, and take no shame in his repulse. Why not a woman for a man? Are you of such ordinary stuff, such common fustian, that you will tamely stand by while some milk-and-water chit takes your natural mate from you? You had better go back to the gutter, if so."
There was scorn in his words, scorn in the tone of his voice, and if Hora intended to rouse the woman's spirit the words did not fail of their purpose. Though she winced under the sting of his speech, her eyes flashed fire again.
"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 aredutiful, 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.