Nita had rejected Colletti's passionate suit and married Romani. Hiding his real feelings, Colletti had contrived to act as his cousin's best man. After the wedding, feeling cheated, nursing his wounded vanity, with hatred of the newly-weds festering in his veins, he fled to Europe. That was six months ago. Now he was back in his dead grandfather's house with a handful of silk, a frayed card, an all-consuming hate, an inexorable determination to get Nita and her husband out of the picture and---- "Tony!" A voice like the tinkling of silver bells roused Colletti from his devilish introspection. Thrusting the card away, a quick smile driving the satanic expression from his face, he jerked around like an automaton, as a slip of a woman, blue-eyed, golden-haired, ivory-skinned, came fluttering toward him. Behind her, in the doorway, her husband paused. At first glance and to the superficial observer, he was strikingly like Colletti. Closer study of the cousins, however, brought out subtle differences. Whereas Colletti was soft, hinting of unclean, forbidden things, with the unhealthy pallor of a plant too long away from the sun, Romani was as hard as a shining rapier, as clean as the salt tang of the sea, as frank as the day itself. "Nita!" Colletti's suave voice was a caress, as he seized the young woman's impulsively outstretched hands. "It _is_ good to see you again. You are lovelier than ever." She laughed musically. "You're looking splendid, Tom." Colletti shook hands with his cousin. "I've never felt better," Romani answered. "When did you get back?" "Yesterday," Colletti told him. "On the _Normandie_." "You'll be coming to our masque tonight, Tony?" Nita queried. "Just try to keep me away!" Colletti chuckled. He didn't deem it necessary to explain that he had deliberately timed his return so that he would not miss the masque. "In fact," he went on, "I've just arranged for my costume. By the way," he turned back to the table, "here's a mask I thought one of you might want to wear tonight. I happened to find it, when I was unpacking this morning. It's unique, I think." Nita caught up the mask and shook out its deep crimson, almost black, folds. "I'd wear it myself," Colletti added hastily, "but I'm coming as Death and it wouldn't go very well with my costume." "It's lovely!" Nita breathed, her eyes enigmatic. "So rich! So lustrous! So soft to the touch! Why, it's actually warm! Like living flesh!" Colletti eyed her narrowly. "It's been lying in the sunlight, my dear," her husband reminded her. "I'd wear it, Tony," Nita spoke dreamily, "but I'm attending the masque as a Watteau shepherdess and I'm afraid it won't fit into the picture at all." "I'll wear it." Romani relieved his wife of the mask. "As a Florentine dandy in the days of the Medici I couldn't ask for anything better. It's just the thing to go with my black outfit." * * * * *