Bandit Love

"I believe the man is actually in love with me," Myra soliloquised,

smiling in self-satisfied fashion at her reflection in the mirror as

she undressed that night. "He was grinding his teeth in sheer

mortification and looking quite murderous when I told him he was boring

me, and I went off with Tony. Yes, I think I am taking my revenge.

What a triumph if I find myself able to twist round my little finger,

so to speak, the man who boasted no woman could resist him!"

Yet when she fell asleep she dreamed that she was again in the arms of

Don Carlos with his lips crushed on her own, and that she was returning

his passionate kisses with fervour and straining the Spaniard close to

her heart although Tony (in her dream) was looking on, feebly begging

her to desist and to kiss him instead, and Lady Fermanagh was standing

by protesting in solemn tones that she was "playing with fire."

"What an utterly absurd dream!" Myra reflected, when she woke with her

heart thrilling queerly. "I wonder what particular and peculiar kink

in my mental outfit made me enjoy kisses in my dreams which I hated

while I was awake? How flattered Don Carlos would be if he knew!"

An hour or so later she chanced to encounter Don Carlos while she was

taking her morning gallop in the Row, and he brought his horse abreast

of hers, saluting in his usual gallant manner.

"You tortured me last night, Myra, but in my dreams I got full

recompense," he said, after formal greetings.

"Really! How fortunate for you!" drawled Myra, with well-feigned lack

of interest. "Do you flatter yourself even when you are asleep?"

"It was an extremely vivid dream, Myra," continued Don Carlos, ignoring

the jocular question. "I dreamed you were in my arms, straining me

close to your breast, and returning my hungry kisses with passionate

ardour. We were drinking Love's cup of rapture together, my beloved

and I, giving and taking all."

With her own dream still vivid in her memory; Myra was startled. Her

heart seemed to miss a beat, she felt the hot colour rush to her face,

and she bent forward to stroke her horse's neck lest her expression

might betray her if she met Don Carlos's eyes.

"How utterly preposterous!" she commented. "However, it is said that

dreams are contrary. Incidentally, I meant what I said when I told you

I should refuse to talk to you if you persisted in being sentimental.

Good morning!"