The sheer, foolish bravado of it pierced Anne's heart. The impulse to put her arms about the proud, suffering, little creature was almost irresistible, but she repelled it scornfully. Why cheapen the child's dignity by histrionics? This was obviously neither the time nor place for explanations. Let those come later. The important thing at present was to get to Alexis as quickly as possible, and with as little friction. So she said nothing, but gazed steadily at the stream of motors which glutted Park Avenue like an endless chain of monster glowworms. Without turning perceptibly, Claire cast a surreptitious glance in her direction. In the constant glare from passing motors, Anne emerged, doubly magnificent in regal furs, and jeweled band glowing within the copper meshes of her hair, the proud face of a patrician, charmingly insolent, utterly non-committal. Beside her, Claire felt smitten with mediocrity as with a hopeless disease. And yet it was she herself who was bringing this woman to Alexis. Why not? He desired her. Perhaps his very life depended upon her presence. When existence narrowed down to a primal factor such as death, one shed all fears except one. Her eyes fixed upon Anne, she suddenly laughed aloud. "I startled you, didn't I?" she said harshly, in response to Anne's look of surprise, "but the mirthfulness of the occasion suddenly overcame me. It--it is funny, isn't it? Just----" her voice faltered ever so slightly, "just like the movies?" Anne looked back at her gently. "I doubt if real life could ever be as complicated as Hollywood imagines, don't you?" she replied impersonally. Bitterly ashamed of her outburst, Claire was about to reply with the same aloofness, when the motor turned into 21st Street and glided toward Gramercy Square. It stopped before a tall, narrow house with an English basement. "Are we there?" asked Anne. Her face fiery with chagrin, Claire nodded laconically. They mounted in the elevator and were admitted into the studio by Mme. Petrovskey. "This is very good of you to take pity upon my poor boy," said a suave voice. Anne felt herself drawn swiftly into the room. An inscrutable China-doll face gazed blankly into her own. "Not at all," she replied quietly. "I am distressed to hear of your son's illness and only hope I shall be of some use." The small, blue eyes urbanely veiled, were fixed upon Anne's face. "I'm afraid you're too modest," continued the bland voice. Dislike, tinged with a hint of curiosity lurked beneath the perfect manner. "The doctor seems to think you are necessary for my son's recovery, and we, his wife and mother," the eyes ceased to bore through Anne momentarily and swept ironically over Claire's shrinking figure, "are only too grateful." She came a little nearer and laid a massive hand on Anne's cloak. "Perhaps you'd better keep your wrap on. The sick-room is very cold, and you're not exactly dressed for the occasion, are you, dear lady?"