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!"

Being Irish, Myra Rostrevor was by nature more than a little
superstitious and inclined to attach some importance to dreams and
omens, and she rode away feeling just a tiny bit scared at heart, and
wondering uneasily if perchance Don Carlos de Ruiz was a thought-reader.

"Sure, and I don't know what to make of you, Myra," she whispered to
her own reflection in the mirror, as she changed from her riding
costume into a morning frock. "I don't know what to make of you at
all, at all! And I don't know what to make of Don Carlos, either. I
don't know if you are in love with him or not, and I'm not sure but
what if he kissed you again you might make a fool of yourself and give
up the idea of making a fool of him.... Oh, if only I knew whether he
is in earnest or not!"

Myra was almost afraid to attempt to analyse her own feelings and
emotions, and could