Alexis Petrovskey, who escaped ten days ago from the sanitarium where he had gone to recuperate from nervous shock following upon his unfortunate breakdown in Carnegie Hall last April, is still missing, and a lake near the sanitarium is being dragged for his body, as it is feared that in his state of acute melancholia he may have made away with himself. Etc., etc. There followed encomiums upon his art and the great loss his death would be to the musical world in general. So he had relatives, mused Anne, and for some cryptic reason was unpleasantly stirred by the fact. That ought to have occurred to her in the beginning and they were--how had the newspaper put it?--frantic? Yes, that was it. They would be, of course. And she was aiding and abetting this unnatural young man to make them so. Put in that way, the fact sounded very disagreeable, and yet--? She finished the article with an impatient sigh, and turning her head, saw that the mysterious object of her speculation was awake and looking at her. There was an odd little smile upon his lips and his eyes were very lucid. Conscious of a flaming and obnoxiously juvenile blush, she folded the paper quickly and threw it aside. "Too late!" he exclaimed in a rather weak voice. "I have caught a glimpse of my beauteous self and know the worst. So they haven't been able to keep it out of the papers, after all? Please show it to me." He held out a long thin hand and she gave him the paper without further parley. He sat up in bed and read the article from start to finish. "Damn it!" he exclaimed, but rather placidly she thought. Somehow he had the air of a naughty and triumphant small boy. "This is an awful bore. What can I do to stop this parrots' talk?" "Let them know of your whereabouts, I suppose," she replied laconically. She walked to the window and looked out through the vista of trees. "It is quite natural they should be worried," she added non-committally. "I suppose you think I'm a brute." His eyes lingered upon the pearly nape of neck, where the copper tendrils coiled so densely. "But if you knew all the circumstances, I believe you would understand." The effort at self-command, the something piteous in his voice thawed her superficial coldness. A gentle rush of emotion coursed through her. She turned toward him impulsively. "Of course I don't think you're a brute! What right would I have to do that, when I am ignorant of the facts? Only I do think you ought to let them know----" He sat up in bed interrupting her savagely. "I can't go back--I won't go back!" he cried in a desperate voice. "You don't know what you are asking of me!" A pang of curiosity shot through Anne against her will. Why and of what was he so full of hatred and fear? But her manner was calm and impersonal as she approached him. "Perhaps you might let them know that you are safe and with friends, and let it go at that?" she suggested soothingly. He shot her a strange look.