"You have turned down other fellows as rich as I am who were crazy
about you, and other men much more attractive, so you must love me a
little, Myra dear," Tony had responded. "I am going to make you love
me a lot."
Antony Standish had a good conceit of himself, which was hardly
surprising, for he was the only child of a very rich man, had been
pampered and made much of in his childhood, and later had been toadied
to and sought after by women as well as men, first as heir to, and
subsequently as the actual possessor of, a vast fortune. Many girls
with an eye on the main chance had set their caps at him, angled for
him, and made no secret of their willingness to become Mrs. Antony
Standish, and Tony was not unaware of the fact.
Perhaps it was because Myra Rostrevor had always seemed to be totally
indifferent to him that he had lost his heart to her, and made up his
mind to win her and make her his wife at all costs. It had not been
easy, but Tony had found a very willing ally in the person of Myra's
aunt, Clarissa, Lady Fermanagh. For Lady Fermanagh was only too
anxious to get her orphan niece off her hands, not only because Myra
was an expense, but because her madcap exploits occasionally drove her
almost to distraction, while her heartbreaking flirtations were the
cause of gossip.
Like her fiancé, Myra was an only child, who had been allowed to do
everything she liked practically since infancy, and had come to expect,
and accept, homage, almost as a right. Her father, Sir Dennis
Rostrevor, had at one time been wealthy, but had lost practically
everything in the Rebellion, when the great house that had been the
home of the Rostrevors for generations was burned to the ground.
The loss broke his heart and killed him, and his death almost broke
Myra's heart and left her for a time distraught and inconsolable, for
she had loved and adored her handsome and indulgent father. Time,
however, speedily heals grief's wounds when one is in the early
twenties, and in the social whirl of English Society Myra had all but
forgotten her loss and the dark days of tragedy in Ireland.
"Will you be at home if I call round in an hour or so?" inquired Tony,
as Myra was about to move off, her horse becoming restive again. "I've
got something important to discuss."
"Let me see," answered Myra. "I've got a luncheon appointment, then
I'm going on to Hurlingham, dining with the Fitzpatricks, and going on
later to Lady Trencrom's dance. Have to see my hairdresser and
manicurist at eleven this morning, but I expect I shall be free by
noon. Call about twelve, Tony, and don't forget to bring some
chocolate and cigarettes with you."