seem to understand that a girl isn't necessarily
in earnest if she says she doesn't want to be kissed, or pretends she
doesn't want to be made love to," responded Myra, with a little
gurgling laugh. "Kiss me again, Tony, but this time kiss me in the way
I should love to be kissed by the man who loves me, and not just like a
cold-blooded Englishman."

Tony kissed her again, straining her closer, but Myra broke from him as
if in sudden alarm.

"There's someone in the corner, Tony," she whispered. "I saw the glow
of a cigarette-end. Let's slip out quickly. I hope they didn't see us
or hear us, and that they won't rag us later on."

Little guessing that Myra had intended part of what she said should be
overheard, Tony, a little bewildered, allowed himself to be rushed out
of the conservatory, protesting in an undertone that it didn't matter
about being heard or seen, as they were engaged.

For the rest of the evening Myra continued to avoid Don Carlos as much
as possible, but she smiled at him in tantalisingly alluring fashion
every time their eyes met, wondering as she did so what was in his mind
and what effect her coquetry had had upon him. And she went to bed
feeling that she had, at least, done something towards justifying her
boast that she would make Don Carlos fall in love with her in earnest.

At dead of night she woke suddenly, with the feeling strong upon her
that someone, or something, had touched her, but when she sat up in bed
and switched on the lights she could see nothing to give her any cause
for alarm. Deciding she must have been dreaming, Myra was about to
switch off the lights and compose herself to sleep again, when her eyes
fell on a folded sheet of notepaper on her pillow. With a sudden
intake of breath, she picked up the note, unfolded it, and read:

"_The man who loves you will kiss you in the way you would love to be
kissed as soon as he is relieved of his promise. Relieve him of his
promise, and leave the door of your bedroom unlocked again to-morrow
night._"

Myra read the note again and again, her mind in something of a tumult,
her heart throbbing fast. She knew it must have been written by Don
Carlos, and she was dismayed by the thought that he had been in her
room.

"There seems to be no limit to the man's daring and impudence," she
reflected, and was annoyed to find that she was blushing. "What cheek
to suggest that I should relieve him of his promise not to make love