He followed her trailing draperies out of the room with unutterable relief. Escape was imperative. He would seize the first opportunity that offered. In the drawing room several men were already grouped before the lugubrious mantel and Ellen's entrance was greeted vociferously. Sucking her into their midst, they circled about her like a black whirlpool. Torrigiani was accosted by Gerald. "Hello, Marchese, what are you doing in this galère?" His tired eyes expressed surprise at seeing Vittorio without Anne. Torrigiani smiled politely. "I don't belong, do I? As a matter of fact, I'm going on elsewhere immediately." He looked guiltily towards Ellen. Gerald laughed. "Meditating escape? Well, I won't give you away." They smoked in silence for a few moments. "What do you think of the house?" Gerald waved a languid hand at the lavender walls. "Remarkable!" "But you ought to see the bathroom!" The tired eyes grinned salaciously. "Done in gold leaf with black frieze representing scenes from 'Le Roi Pausole.' Hot tamale! Shall I show it to you?" The Marchese declined hastily. Another time he would be only too pleased! At present he must make his adieux. Threading his way through the small room, which was crowding rapidly, he bent over Ellen's large, white hand. "Must you leave?" she laughed lazily, "and just as we are going to play Baccarat? What a shame. Give her my love!" Torrigiani smiled back with well-bred insolence. "I prefer to keep it all myself!" Outside, MacDougal's Alley was filled with quite un-Hogarthian motors. The air felt cold and sweet after the heavily perfumed house. And although his hotel was well up in the Fifties, Torrigiani decided to walk. * * * * * "Just one more spoonful. There, that's a good boy!" With a pleased expression, Anne laid the empty cup upon the night table. "Hot milk isn't so ghastly, after all, is it?" Alexis shook his head. Upon his lips rode the ecstatic smile of a two-year old whose mother has just returned from the great unknown. "Nectar," he whispered, above still-painful breathing. She raised an admonishing finger. But her smile was compassionate. "Don't talk. Remember your promise? If you break it, I shall have to go. Miss Wilson has come back for the night and she is very severe, you know." He caught the reproving finger and pressed it against his cheek, where the bristly down of a new beard was forming. His eyes gleamed above the crimson cheek-bones. "Anne, you are beautiful," he disobeyed. "Anne, I worship you." She drew away her hand, and laid it reprovingly upon his laboring chest. "I shall have to go, I see. Good-night, Alexis." She bent over him and brushed her lips across his forehead. "May your sleep bring health!" Unshed tears glittered upon her lashes. He clutched at her skirts baby-wise. "Don't forget your promise," he whispered. "To come back when you are ready for bed with your hair down, just like last night?"