name, and to him in mine--poor mamma often does
eccentric things, to get her own way--and it made complications, Michael
was very much annoyed. So we settled always to sign important telegrams
'Veritas,' which means: 'This is really from me.'"

"Then--your husband--is coming home to you?" said Jim Airth, slowly.

"Yes, Jim," the sweet voice faltered, for the first time, and grew
tremulous. "Michael is coming home."

Then Jim Airth turned round, and faced her squarely. Myra had never seen
anything so terrible as his face.

"You are mine," he said; "not his."

Myra looked up at him, in dumb sorrowful appeal. She closed the ivory
fan, clasping her hands upon it. The unquestioning finality of her
patient silence, goaded Jim Airth to madness, and let loose the torrent
of his fierce wild protest against this inevitable--this unrelenting,
fate.

"You are mine," he said, "not his. Your love is mine! Your body is mine!
Your whole life is mine! I will not leave you to another man. Ah, I know
I said we could not marry! I know I said I should go abroad. But you
would have remained faithful to me; and I, to you. We might have been
apart; we might have been lonely; we might have been at different ends of
the earth; but--we should have been each other's. I could have left you
to loneliness; but, by God, I will not leave you to another!"

Myra rose, moved forward a few steps and stood, leaning her arm upon the
mantelpiece and looking down upon the bank of ferns and lilies.

"Hush, Jim," she said, gently. "You forget to whom you are speaking."

"I am speaking," cried Jim Airth, in furious desperation, "to the woman I
have won for my own; and who is mine, and none other's. If it had not
been for my pride and my folly, we should have been married by
now--_married_, Myra--and far away. I left you, I know; but--by heaven, I
may as well tell you all now--it was pride--damnable false pride--that
drove me away. I always meant to come back. I was waiting for you to
send; but anyhow I should have come back. Would to God I had done as you
implored me to do! By now we should have been together--out of reach of
this cursed telegram,--and far away!"

Myra slowly lifted her eyes and looked at him. He, blinded by pain and
passion, failed to mark the look, or he might have taken warning. As it
was, he rushed on, headlong.

Myra, very white, with eyelids lowered, leaned against the mantelpiece;
slowly furling and unfurling the ivory fan.