A diminutive hall had been rendered significant, not to say sinister, by being lined to the ceiling by large black and white tiles, and encircled by a Gauguinesque frieze, negroid and undefinably lecherous. By the door, two grinning sable cats supported a black marble bench. Leaving hat and coat in their guardianship, the Marchese entered the drawing room. It was like going into a twilight grotto. Everything from heavy brocaded hangings to the deep pile carpet, dripped lavender. One felt as if one were treading upon crushed violets. Torrigiani sank down upon a lavender sofa and stared aghast into the expressionless eyes of a slightly soiled nude over the black marble fireplace. Her eyes look like tired oysters, he thought, his mind wandering emptily. And the room about as cheerful as the inside of a casket, done by an expensive and lady-like undertaker. The candle in the tall bracket by his side guttered audibly. He started. Where the devil was everybody? He had understood it was to be a large party. Surely he was not ahead of time? No, for the large black clock was tolling a quarter past eight, and was not that the voice of his hostess? He rose and walked towards the door. Somber draperies hanging from white shoulders, Ellen strolled into the room elaborately languid, as usual. "Ah, Marchese, I see you are admiring my little nest," she drawled. He bent over her hand. "I am speechless," he murmured. "It is utterly beyond my poor comprehension. I feel like the intruding cuckoo." With a purring laugh, she laid her hand upon his arm and led him back to the sofa. "You are a flatterer, like all foreigners. That is why we adore you so. But confess, it's not much like your palaces?" She leaned forward. Her heavy perfume swept over him with the intimacy of a caress. He recoiled imperceptibly. "My dear lady, our palaces are only called so by courtesy. Compared to your American houses, they are barracks. We may have a few treasures, but"--he hesitated, his eyes twinkling enigmatically. "No such taste, I assure you." Ellen laughed. "Confess you think it is all atrocious? But it is only a fad. You mustn't take this too seriously. A year from now the whole thing will probably be done over in flaming scarlet, festooned with monkeys and cocoanuts." "In a species of inverse evolution, I suppose?" His comical expression sat upon him gayly. The exotic little Chinese entered with cocktails. Torrigiani noted with dismay that there were only two glasses. Was the tête-à-tête to endure all evening? His raised eyebrows piqued Ellen. She answered his unspoken question with gay malice. "Yes, we are to be alone. I wanted to have you all to myself. Am I not selfish?" She handed him his cocktail with a queenly gesture and smiled languidly into his noncommittal eyes. "Delightfully so!" he bowed ceremoniously over the small jade cup. "Quel beau geste! Confess you were expecting to meet Anne here!" Below their somnolent surface, her eyes searched him.