Ellen leaned her elbows comfortably upon the table, while she munched at an olive. "Now don't get cross," she said smoothly. "I'm only repeating what Anne told me herself. And you can hardly call that gossip, can you?" He shook his head. "Hardly." "Well, it seems that this Autumn, when she was up in the Adirondacks alone with Regina, she came upon Petrovskey one day in the woods. He was wandering about, half out of his mind with fatigue. (He had escaped from the sanitarium, or was it the lunatic asylum?) She felt so sorry for him that she took him back with her to the lodge and they spent the next ten days there together." His pale face became crimson. "How did Anne happen to tell you this?" The sight of the food on his plate suddenly nauseated him. He pushed it a little to one side. Ellen looked at him with gentle reproach. "You don't trust me, do you?" she wailed. "Well, if you want to know the truth----" (What else should I want to know, he thought savagely?) "I found him up in her sitting-room the night she arrived home. The first time you and I met each other, do you remember?" Her eyes pleaded in vain. He nodded shortly. "I have not forgotten." Ellen's tongue passed over encrimsoned lips. "Well, she tried to pass him off as a legal adviser or something. But I knew better. I recognized him the minute I entered the room! So of course I told them so! Later, when we were alone I wormed it all out of Anne. It's quite simple, you see." "Quite! What sort of fellow is this Petrovskey? I've never had the pleasure of hearing him play." Ellen smiled reminiscently. "Perfectly fascinating, in a haggard way! And the rudest thing! He would have enjoyed killing me, I know!" "How can you say such a thing!" Torrigiani laughed wryly. "The fellow is probably in love with you like all the rest of us." She shook a finger at him. "You're an insinuating wretch! I only wish you were right. I'd adore to have a genius like that in love with me, even if he is a nut. But he's so crazy about Anne that he can't see straight. I'm sure I don't know what's going to happen!" Vittorio's heart skipped a beat. "Is this interesting affection mutual?" "Oh, I hope not. He would make a terrible husband. So egotistical, you know." Husband! The Marchese's knuckles showed white about his wine-glass. "And he is much younger than she!" Ellen's eyes rested upon him blandly. "At least ten years. But you never can tell what a woman will do when she is infatuated!" He gathered himself together. "Aren't you exaggerating a little? Mrs. Schuyler has hardly reached the foolish age as yet. I'm positive she wouldn't dream of marrying a man younger than herself!" "Such things have happened!" Ellen's shrug was eloquent. "Shall we take our coffee in the other room? I believe I hear voices."