"Because I want to explore some of the ruins down there. And it is another Egypt, you know, as the idyllic guide books put it. It seems to me that a honeymoon in Mexico, even only a fraternal one," he added hastily, "would be heavenly." With a little moan she turned away and sank into a chair. "But I can't. You don't understand. I'm no longer free. I have promised. If I break my word now I don't know what will happen to Alexis. He is still very ill. He might lose his music forever, or even die." Torrigiani turned about slowly and looked down upon her bowed head. "Do you love this man, Anne?" he inquired with a commanding note in his voice. Her head thrown wearily against the chair-back, she shook it dully. "I told you before that I didn't know, Vittorio." He mused down upon her darkly. "Then it is even worse than I feared. If you had loved him, a certain rapture might have repaid the sacrifice. But if it is only pity! Why, Anne, if it is merely pity, why don't you take it out on me? Surely, I deserve it after all these years. Am I not equally an object for charity?" He knelt beside the chair and grasped her hands. "Ah, but you are a man, Vittorio. Able to stand upon your own feet. He is only a sick boy, an artist, whose art, his only reason for living, had deserted him until only the other day. And I--I seem to be able to help. If I stay by him, it may never leave him again." He dropped her hands and rose. His face took on a hard expression, utterly foreign to him. He laughed shortly. "I see he has appealed to the maternal, the protective instinct. He is clever, if weak. But is the game worth the candle?" She sighed, and spread her hands in a weary, undecided gesture. "Is any game worth the candle, Vittorio, if you weigh the wax? But if I can help him to get on his feet again, if I can bring his art back again, I shall feel as if I had been of some use in the world at last." Vittorio's expression became almost a grimace. The curt laugh rang out harshly. "Aha, it is the old music complex, is it? So we have put our finger upon the little, hungry place that shrieks for fame. Anne, the most exquisite amateur in the world, prefers vicarious success to none at all!" Her anger melted as she met his suffering eyes. "That is rather brutal, Vittorio, but very possibly true. Whatever my motive is, the fact remains that I am pledged." Her weary candor disarmed him. He stooped and placed his hand upon hers. "Carissima, it is not yet too late. No man, especially no genius, is worth the sacrifice you intend making. Let him go his own way. After all, one musician more or less will make no great difference to the world, which is well stocked with such as he. But women like you are rare."