"What a shameless propagandist you are, Regina! Would it please you if I did?" she added, avoiding the eyes in the mirror almost shyly. Her cherished hopes for the Marchese flaming upwards, the Italian manipulated the golden coils deftly. "The signora knows only too well!" she replied with naïve dignity. She placed a jeweled bandeau about Anne's head. "The hair is a marvel to-night, and in the gown of gold brocade the Signora will be magnificent. She should be going to Court and not wasting herself upon Broadway." Her characteristic snort of contempt delighted Anne. She led her on to more flagrant abuse, wriggling into the golden gown in high amusement. Then very regal in a Kolinsky evening coat, she swept down upon the waiting Marchese. "Regina has been so funny," she said. He took her hand and looked down into her mocking face with renewed enchantment. "The poor thing will never rest until she sees your coronet pressing down my auburn locks." His laugh was tender. "I shall have to pension her handsomely, shall I not?" he said lightly, as the butler opened the door for them to pass out. The night was clear but unexpectedly cold. Over the tops of the high, narrow houses a hard heaven was studded with metallic stars. Anne shivered and drew closer to the Marchese. "This hateful cold, it chills me to the marrow," she murmured, between chattering teeth, as they went towards the car. He stopped in his tracks, and bent over her. "Let us leave it all behind us, Anne. Come with me to Italy!" The entreaty was almost a command. Anne looked up into his face with growing decision. After all,--why not? She had kept him waiting long enough. She was about to speak, to put an end to his doubts, when a yellow taxi grazed the corner and stopped noisily back of Anne's motor. A slight figure jumped out and hurried across the sidewalk towards them. "Is this Mrs. Schuyler?" inquired an eager young voice. Anne turned about in surprise. Where had she heard that intense voice, those words before? Apprehension descended upon her. She drew still closer to Vittorio. "Yes, this is Mrs. Schuyler," she answered mechanically. "What is it, what is the matter?" An insistent hand was laid upon Anne's sleeve. "This is Claire Petrovskey. I have come to tell you that Alexis is very ill, and to ask if you will come to him at once. He wants you." The voice faltered. Then as Anne continued to look down at her in a daze, continued harshly, "Oh, don't you understand? Alexis is ill and he needs you!" She shook Anne by the arm. A sudden light came into Anne's clouded eyes. A spasm of fear gripped her. She threw an arm about the girl's shoulders and hurried her towards the motor. "Of course I will come," she cried unevenly. "Here, get into the car. Where to?" She pushed the girl into the limousine and paused a moment beside Vittorio to collect herself.