The dancing had recommenced. They dashed through revolving couples to the sofa in front of the fire, where Anne was sitting with a large, dark man, whom Alexis recognized as Del Re, the South American opera singer. In a dream-like dance dress of sapphire tulle over pale-green chiffon, the emerald pendant upon her breast, Anne watched their approach with concealed astonishment. So Alexis had come after all! Why? The brilliant eyes, the twisted smile puzzled her. Had he been listening to some rumor about Del Re? Was the old serpent of jealousy once more coiling to strike her long-suffering head? "How nice of you to change your mind!" she murmured, a question beneath her composure, "Have you met Señor Del Re? Mr. Petrovskey." The familiar pang gnawing at his vitals, Alexis suppressed it savagely. "Who does not know the celebrated Mephisto? You have given me many a thrill, Señor." "Is there a thrill left in New York?" Del Re's crooked eyebrow curved whimsically. "I thought they were all in your violin, Petrovskey! Thrills? You are the master there!" There was genuine admiration in the cello-like tones. "Yes, isn't he wonderful?" shrilled Olive. "I am going to dance with him this very minute. I've simply got to be seen in his company, that's all!" "Very flattering, isn't she!" Flashing a blazing glance into Anne's face, Alexis laughed loudly, then turned to Olive. "Did you bring your press-agent along?" "Mean thing!" She dragged him on to the floor with another shrill squeal. They danced away. Her mocking eyes on his face, she cackled gayly. "No use in looking at Anne like that, Mr. Petrovskey. Might as well make up your mind to lose her. He can get 'em whenever he wants to." Dragging his eyes from Anne's face, Alexis hid his crimson anger like a wound. "He has a record, has he?" He crushed Olive to him savagely. "Oh yes," she gasped, mistaking his clasp for ardor. "And what he hasn't been through! Thrust in the stomach with bayonets. Scarred with shrapnel. Face lifted at least twice. You know they say he is almost seventy. But what with Steinach and surgery, you'd never dream it, would you?" "Never!" They circled the room in abandoned unison. As they reached the sofa again, Alexis rudely relaxed his hold and sank into the couch upon the other side of Anne. With a chagrined laugh, Olive fell into a chair next to Del Re. "He doesn't seem to appreciate me, does he?" "Will you dance with me?" Alexis whispered into Anne's ear. "Of course!" She did not know Alexis in this reckless, Byronical mood. Could he have had a little too much to drink? She watched him down the whisky and soda just passed by the footman. Alexis caught her troubled glance. He nodded gayly. "It's all right. Don't be frightened. I'm not drunk with anything except you. You are crème de Menthe in a dark-blue glass, and very intoxicating." He pointed to the green lining of the sapphire gown.