Above a livid line of snow the villa Sirena loomed brilliantly like some huge ocean liner, against the night.

A shiver of excitement ran up Anne’s spine. So they had arrived at last! “How large it looks,” she said rather breathlessly. In spite of herself a slight tremor crept into her voice. Alexis turned towards her passionately. Under cover of the darkness his face was puzzled, triumphant. This new, virginal Anne, was at once mysterious and adorable.

“It is rather deceptive at night,” he replied quietly, ignoring her confusion. “Not really large at all, but I know it will please you because it’s modeled exactly after the Florentine villas you love so much. Once inside, you scarcely dream you are only in Long Island.”

With a skillful twist of the wrist, he turned the car in at the gates and entered the driveway.

“Of course I shall love it!”

He took a hand off the wheel and laid it on hers.

“Silly boy! Look out or you will run into the terrace.”

They had stopped in front of the doorway. Bathed in the golden rays from the entrance-hall, they stared at each other in startled silence.

“Anne, Anne,” Alexis’ voice was broken. He started to put his arms about her. She pushed him away gently.

“Be careful, Alexis. The servants are at the door. And don’t forget I am your cousin, Mme. Simone.”

He got out of the car with a groan. “What a farce. I hate it, Anne.”

“Not any more than I do!” she accepted his aid. Her eyes hovered over his miserable face comprehendingly, as she swept past him up the shallow steps.

“Madame est la bienvenue!”

A broad smile upon his ruddy face, Jules bowed low. He took Anne’s suitcase from Alexis with an air of tragedy.

“Monsieur should ’ave call me! Shall I take the box of Madame to ’er room?”

“If you please, Jules.” Alexis’ eyes were fixed upon Anne’s face. “Do you like it?”

She sat down upon a marble bench looking about her with genuine admiration. “It is beautiful, Alexis.”

The small round hall was paved with large black and white marble slabs. In the center was a fountain over which presided the green bronze of a nude girl. Exquisitely slender, her arms were thrown above her head to support the masses of hair from whence water spouted. It trickled over face and breast, over delicate, rounded thighs, polishing them into black marble, but leaving the slender, curved back bare and lusterless. The gurgle and splash filled the room with liquid music, as thirst-assuaging as a mountain brook.

“What a lovely creature!” Anne encircled the fountain dreamily. “But doesn’t her back ever get wet?”

“No, she is like an ostrich. What she doesn’t see simply doesn’t exist. I find her very irritating. I often splash her in revenge.”

“How ungentlemanly!” Anne laughed. She moved away aimlessly.

He put his arm through hers almost timidly. “Would you like to see your room?”

“Why not?” Her voice was deliberately careless.

They mounted the curving, marble stairs, arm in arm.

“I hope you will like it. It is a bit rococo.”

“Oh, I shan’t mind. I know Karzimova’s taste is supposed to be somewhat barbaric. It will be quite amusing to occupy her room. But weren’t you in luck to get hold of her villa?”

“Yes, wasn’t I?” he said simply. They had reached the large landing. Turning to the right, they entered a Gothic corridor. “Here you are.” He stopped before an open door and stood aside for her to precede him. “Remember, I warned you,” he finished apologetically.

The entire room was done in old gold and turquoise brocade. A narrow, Empire bed, with a canopy, stood lengthwise against the wall. Large, French windows outlined by turquoise hangings, and swathed in heavy lace, opened out on to an iron balcony. A few French prints perched naughtily upon the walls. On the Buhl dressing table was a large Tiffany bowl filled with gardenias. Their amorous scent rose upon the air triumphantly. Anne stooped over them, and inhaled the heady fragrance. It penetrated and warmed her brain like old wine.

“Well, what do you think of it?”

She started slightly at the sound of his voice directly behind her.

“A temple of love—but not at all respectable, my friend.” Her laugh was both cynical and uncertain. She seated herself on the edge of the bed rather gingerly. The turquoise satin cover rustled voluptuously beneath her.

“I feel like Zola’s Nana, or what’s her name in Pierre Louys’ ‘Aphrodite’.”

He laughed angrily. “I know it is in atrocious taste.”

She held out her hand with a pretty, contrite gesture.

“Don’t worry, dear. After all, we are ourselves, aren’t we? Our surroundings can’t change that. And I shall certainly be very comfortable.” Once more her laugh rippled out uncontrollably. “Did you get the gardenias because the room shrieked for them, or because you really like them?” she demanded.

Crouched at her feet, he leaned his cheek against her outstretched hand.

“I love them,” he confessed. “Is it low-brow of me? But their whiteness and fragrance remind me of you. And they are mysterious and exotic, which is another point of resemblance.”

She laughed tenderly, her hand nestled against his blonde mane.

“Why will men always call me mysterious? Is it because, although I have red hair, my lashes and brows happen to be black instead of white like a guinea pig’s?”

“Perhaps that is one reason. And then you are so very white and slim, a tower of ivory!” He turned his head lazily and brushed her palm with his lips. “But your flesh isn’t cold like ivory, it is as white and warm as new milk. Anne, kiss me!”

He threw back his head, exposing the full young throat that always fascinated her. She bent low and their lips crushed against each other. A flush spreading beneath her smooth pallor, she raised her head and looked down at him.

“What time is it?” she inquired abruptly. “It must be quite late. I ought to be dressing for dinner, you know.”

“Oh no, stay just as you are, dearest. You look beautiful. Besides, I can’t bear to lose the time!”

“Crazy boy!” She removed him gently and rose to her feet. “What time do you dine?”

“Eight o’clock, I suppose.” He looked abused.

“I must hurry then. It is long after seven. Come now, be good and run away.” She patted his cheek. “Would you have me a Cinderella in such gorgeousness as this?” She waved a dramatic hand towards the hangings. Her lips curved mockingly.

“Very well,” he shrugged. “Shall I send Elvira to help you? That is Jules’ wife, and the only female in the house. She is probably dying of curiosity to see you.”

“Well, I hate to commit murder, but as I haven’t Regina with me, I’d rather get along by myself. I shall manage somehow.”

He strolled regretfully towards the door.

“Well, if you need help, just stamp on the floor. My rooms are directly beneath these, in the bachelor suite. It would be so heavenly to have to hook you up, or something. As if we were really married?” His eyes were wistful.

“Dear boy!” She smiled at him between raised arms. She was removing her hat. Her long slim body, thrown slightly backwards, reminded him of the bronze in the fountain below. “I am wearing a tea-gown and there will be no hooks.”

“‘There ain’t goin’ to be no core.’” His little, rueful laugh rang down the hall behind him.

A little later, in the bath-room, she gazed about her in amusement and despair. Oh, for the cool, white tiles of her own chaste, little sanctuary! This one was Moorish in style, with a shallow bench running all around the sunken bath of turquoise tiles. A huge dolphin’s head served as a faucet. As she turned the tap it spouted a crystal stream. She slid down into the water with a laugh. The glistening of goldfish outlined in mosaic upon the bottom of the tub had caught her eye. But her body, luminous in the bluish tint cast by the tiles, elongated beneath the rippled surface of the water, gave her a sensuous pleasure. Pink-tipped, the ivory hillocks of her breast thrust upwards. Slim flanks melted into shadow. She sighed luxuriantly.

Dinner was served in the large, lunetted dining room. The refectory table was drawn up against the frescoed wall, and Anne and Alexis sat side by side upon a long bench. In a clinging, sleeveless gown of white velvet, a small knot of gardenias pinned against the red-gold of her hair, Anne’s beauty made Alexis’ brain reel. He longed for the meal to be over, so that he might have her all to himself. The gallant subservience of old Jules irritated him almost to a frenzy. This woman was his. The firm column of her throat, the gleaming pilasters of her arms. She was a temple, he the high priest. His alone the inner shrine.

After an interminable agony, Jules brought coffee and left them.

Anne was laughing softly.

“I was remembering the bathroom,” she said, in answer to his look of inquiry. “It demoralized me completely. Even to the stealing of some of Karzimova’s bath salts. I usually hate a perfumed bath, but the mise en scÈne fairly shrieked for it. I hope I don’t smell too strong?”

He leaned so close that his flaring nostrils grazed her hair.

“It is hard to tell where the gardenias begin and you end,” he laughed excitedly.

She encountered his flaming eyes with a little thrill of fear.

“I felt more than ever like the heroine of ‘Aphrodite,’” she continued moving away rather nervously. “Do you remember the famous bath?”

His tension relaxed.

“I hope the resemblance was not too accurate?” He laughed daringly. She blushed, and bending forward, chose a peach from the amber bowl in front of them.

“What gorgeous fruit for December! You’re an extravagant creature!”

He helped himself to a sprawling bunch of black grapes.

“Why shouldn’t I be? I sold a bond the other day, and in six weeks I give my first recital. After that, as you know, my time is completely booked. Rosenfield is a slave-driver.”

“But he is a good manager. He’s so enthusiastic about you.”

He shrugged indifferently. “I suppose so.”

“And do you really find it easier to practice here than in New York?”

“Oh, yes. It is so divinely quiet. And then the air is so good. I walk two hours a day, as the doctor told me to do. It would have been an awful bore to have had to go South. You couldn’t have come with me and I should have gone mad. As it is—I am in heaven!”

Anne paled. His fervor always frightened her. How could such happiness last?

“But I can only come occasionally, you know, dear. It is difficult for me to get away. I have to make excuses,” she faltered. “Excuses, even to Regina. I feel sure she suspects something. Subterfuge is horrible. I loathe it.”

Head drooping upon its slender stem, she looked like a chidden child. A spasm of fear swept over his face. Anne was suffering. Was it all too much for her? God, if he were only free to marry! Hatred for Claire gripped his vitals like a vise. He rose and stood over her trembling.

“Anne, you will not give me up? It would kill me!”

The stiletto anguish of his cry tore her soul.

“No, no, my poor Alexis.” She stood up and laid her hands on his shaking shoulders. “Come, you are over-excited. Let’s go into the other room. I want you to play for me. But only a little, for I know you are tired.”

“Yes, of course, I will play to you, but first I have something to show you.”

His young voice was excited. He slipped his hand into the warm crook of her elbow and led her into the salon. The many vases and jars were filled with dark red, almost black, roses, Anne’s favorite flowers. She smiled. The boy had forgotten nothing. Sinking into a small sofa before the large, hooded fireplace, she looked up at him.

“This reminds me of my villa in Florence. Only more gorgeous, of course. I love the carved ceiling and the stone floors. The tapestries look quite genuine, too.”

“I believe they are supposed to be.” His tone was absent. He took a small package from the table and brought it to her almost shyly.

“Is this for me?” She glanced up in surprise. He nodded.

“Open it.” The intense face bent over her eagerly, while she removed the paper wrapping.

“How exquisite!”

It was a small wooden coffer such as Florentine women had used to contain jewelry. The lid was rounded and on it was painted a replica in miniature of Botticelli’s Venus rising from the sea. The lovely faded colors were like a greeting.

“I never saw anything so lovely! Where did you get it?”

“I’ve had it for years. But I thought you’d like it. But aren’t you going to open it?”

“Is there anything in it?”

“Look and see.”

A green velvet jewel-case lay ensconced within the polished interior.

“Oh!” Anne’s heart sank. She opened the case with a feeling of cold apprehension.

Livid flashes of emeralds. White fire of diamonds. Anne turned away dazzled eyes.

“Alexis, how could you?”

He lifted the bracelet and held it out to her coaxingly.

“Do you like it, dear?” His voice was infinitely tender. “Let me put it on for you.”

“It is beautiful, but I cannot take it, Alexis. Please put it away.”

“You cannot take it? Why not?” His voice was desperate.

“I cannot accept such a valuable gift, dear.”

“Not from me?”

“Especially not from you.”

“Oh my God, are you going to be conventional, Anne?”

“You should not be the one to accuse me of that, Alexis!” She had risen and they were staring at each other angrily.

“If you loved me, you’d take it!”

“You don’t understand,” she said more gently. “I should feel as if I had lost caste. And besides, you ought not to afford it. Dearest, can’t you see I don’t want to be an expense, or drag on you in any way?”

“Expense! Drag! If you were my wife you’d take it, wouldn’t you?”

“That is a different story.”

“Well, it’s not my fault you are not, is it? I wish to heaven you were. Then I could be sure of you. This incompleteness is killing me.” He flung himself face downwards upon the sofa.

“Alexis, be reasonable!”

“I wish I were dead! You have never loved me. All you have ever given me was in pity. If you cared for me, you’d take my gift and wear it.”

An expression of abnegation upon her face, she stooped and picked up the bracelet from where he had flung it on the rug between them. “Alexis, look. See? It is on!”

“Anne, you darling!”

He sprang to his feet, and catching her in his arms, carried her to the sofa.

“Be careful. You will hurt yourself,” she cried breathlessly. “Remember, I am as tall as you are.”

His arms about her, he laughed crazily.

“Ah, but you are light, light as a moonbeam, and as luminous. Light as my heart!”

With a gesture, maternal in its compassion, she wound her arms about his neck, and drawing his face down to hers, offered him her mouth. Teeth pressed against the fruit-like flesh, he ran his lips along her chin and bare shoulder.

“Anne, I am hungry and thirsty for you!”

With a sigh of relinquishment, she relaxed in his arms.

A bell pealed derisively through the house.

Alexis sprung to his feet with an impatient exclamation. Anne sat up hastily and smoothed her hair with nervous fingers.

“What is it?”

“The door bell.” He was pale from the sudden recoil.

“But does any one know you are here? Who can it be at this hour?”

“God knows.” Their eyes met in sudden confusion, a sweet secret shame, then scattered self-consciously.

Came a discreet knock on the door, and Jules entered.

“Excuse it, Monsieur, but zere is a lady who desires to speak to Monsieur.” His air of apology was comical.

“Did she say who she was?” Alexis’ voice was elaborately careless.

“Yes, Monsieur. She say she good friend of Monsieur. ’Er name ees Miss Ellen Barnes. Er automobile is—vot you call it—stalled in ze snow.”

Alexis nodded briefly. “Very well, Jules. Tell her I will be right down. You may go.”

The little man trotted out hastily.

“Ellen!” Alexis’ expression was murderous. “She has been on our trail ever since you had her to tea with us before I left New York!”

Anne’s hand went to her mouth. “She must not see me!”

Her distress put him on his metal. He laid his arm about her shoulders.

“Don’t be frightened, dear. She won’t discover a thing. Run to your rooms. I will go down and see the comedy through.”

“Yes, yes, I know I can rely upon you.”

He opened the door and she slipped out upon the landing and up the stairs. As she disappeared around the bend, Alexis started downwards.

Accompanied by Gerald Boynton and two strangers, Ellen was waiting in the octagonal hall. They were giggling so hard at the fountain that Alexis had to cough twice before they became aware of his presence. Upon catching sight of him Ellen swept forward gayly.

“We were admiring your companion,” she drawled with a little dry laugh.

“She is hardly entertaining,” replied Alexis. “But I hear you are in trouble. What can I do to help?”

“Oh, nothing, thank you. I guess the chauffeur can manage by himself. Our wheel came off just as we were passing your driveway. Wasn’t it too providential? It might have happened out in the open country.”

“Very providential.” Alexis’s brows were quizzical. “Won’t you come upstairs while you are waiting? I’ll send my chauffeur out to help your man.” He nodded to Jules.

“We’d love to. But I forgot to introduce my friends. What must you think of me?” She was already half way up the flight of stairs. “This beautiful little person is Miss Olive Fay of the ‘Cloggers.’” She pushed forward a fluffy little blonde with large, ingenuous eyes. “You have heard of her, I am sure. Her fame has gone abroad.”

“I have seen your photograph in the Sunday papers. Miss Fay.” Alexis bowed formally over the tiny paw.

“I am much nicer, aren’t I?” She pouted pretty painted lips, and looked up at him beneath darkened lashes.

“Much!” His ironic inflection piqued her.

“And this is SeÑor Caldenas. He paints portraits of society ladies. He is rapidly acquiring a fortune because he insists upon their posing in mediÆval costumes and compares their souls to the Mona Lisa.”

“That is because I believe in reincarnation,” the little man smiled affably up at Alexis, who warmed up to him most unexpectedly.

“And this is Mr. Boynton. He was at Anne’s for tea. Do you remember?” Ellen’s eyes were amused.

“Of course, how could I forget an occasion like that?” Alexis’ voice was cool.

They had reached the landing and he stood aside as they entered the large salon.

“Why, it is the old world!” exclaimed the Spaniard, advancing into the room with small prancing steps. “Quite vieux monde. I congratulate you. Absolutely authentic, although a little new and smelling of varnish, if one may say it?”

Ellen sank into a highbacked chair, laughing.

“Even Florentine villas were young once! Pedro would like to have everything covered with dry rot. He doesn’t enjoy sitting in a chair unless it is ready to break under him. He won’t even come to see me any more, because he says my house upsets his functional system.”

“It’s true. It does.” Caldenas nodded like a serious baby.

“I notice he doesn’t object to musical comedy, and that’s pretty up to date,” giggled the fluffy one.

The Spaniard shrugged up to his ears.

“But, my dear lady, musical comedy is as old as woman’s oldest profession!”

“Lewd creature!”

“Apropos of that, as Lord Dundreary would remark, have you seen Anne lately, Petrovskey?” Gerald’s drawl drove the blood into Alexis’ face.

He saw Ellen’s eyes encounter Gerald’s with a significant smile.

“I have not seen Mrs. Schuyler,” Alexis emphasized the prefix, “for at least a week. You see, my doctor recommended country air and quiet. So I’m following his orders. And incidentally, preparing for my recital in January.” He strolled over to Ellen and seated himself on a carved stool at her side.

“But how did you happen to be out in these wilds, in this wintry weather?” His eyes probed her ironically.

Her poise remained unshaken.

“Well, you see, we were all dining with some friends in Glen Cove. Fortunately, it was Sunday night and Olive and I were free. We passed right by here on the way. You know the rest.” She smiled challengingly into his angry eyes.

“You must be tired,” he said, forcing himself to be courteous. He rose and pulled the crimson bell-rope. “What will you have? Cocktails or whisky and soda?”

“Whisky and soda. That’ll suit us all right, won’t it, children?”

They all agreed except Caldenas, who demanded cognac.

“That is, if you have it, in this thirst-beridden country?”

“I’ll bet he has with the rum runners not two miles from his windows!” said Gerald.

“I think there is a bottle or two,” Alexis smiled almost genially. The Spaniard, under other circumstances, would have been quite endurable. There was something naÏvely wise about him that appealed to one.

Jules entered and took Alexis’ order.

A cigarette between her lips, Ellen strolled about the large room. She leaned across a table and sniffed at the red roses.

“You do yourself well, Mr. Petrovskey, ‘roses in December!’ Isn’t that the title of a song? Sent by some admirer, I suppose?”

“Or did we come in upon a party?” Olive’s ingenuous eyes were fixed upon Alexis.

“What is this?” exclaimed Ellen before he could reply. She held up the empty jewel case. “Have you been giving yourself presents?”

Alexis’ hands clenched. His nails bit into the palms savagely.

“Not guilty, Miss Barnes. That box must have been left by the former owner. Let me see it.” He took the box from Ellen’s fingers and pocketed it quietly.

The fluffy one danced up to Alexis.

“I don’t believe him. It’s a present from some woman. Show me your wrist, Mr. Petrovskey. I want to see your mascot.”

He raised his hands and shook them above his head. “Now will you believe me!”

“Be careful. Jewelry isn’t safe when Olive is around,” warned Ellen.

“Oh, what wonderful hands you have, Mr. Petrovskey. Are they insured?”

Alexis laughed. “Yes, but my temper isn’t, Miss Fay.”

“Ooh! Snubbed!” She pretended to cry.

Jules came in with the drinks and passed them around. The ice in the tall glasses clinked invitingly.

“To our host,” said the Spaniard, returning from a tour about the room. He held up his cognac and bowed ceremoniously.

“And his invisible guest,” muttered Gerald, gulping down his whisky.

Alexis did not drink. Anne loathed a whisky-laden breath. He sat down at the piano and allowed his fingers to wander over the keys.

“Oh, do play, Mr. Petrovskey. I’m just crazy to hear you!” The fluffy one pirouetted up to the piano.

Jules reËntered the room, accompanied by Ellen’s chauffeur. She beckoned him across the room.

“What’s the matter, George? Can’t you fix the car?”

“No ma’am, I can’t. The key to the wheel is lost, and there ain’t a garage open anywheres. I’ve been all over the country with Mr. what’s his name’s chauffeur.”

Ellen’s eyes were glued expectantly upon Alexis. “What shall we do?” she wailed.

He looked at her and then at the others, with an amused expression. Their air of open-mouthed expectancy was ludicrous, and reminded him of a lot of goldfish waiting to be fed.

“I’m afraid you will have to resign yourselves to spending the night,” he said suavely. “I can easily put you up.” (Far more easily than I can put up with you).

“How delightful of you. It will be quite an adventure.” Ellen rolled her eyes.

“I’m simply crazy about the idea. You know, I’ve fallen dreadfully in love with you, Mr. Petrovskey.” Olive laid her hand upon the keyboard, ingratiatingly. He shook it off lightly and rose from the piano.

“I’m sure you’re all worn out,” he said, longing to be rid of the pack of them. “I’ll go and see about your rooms at once.”

“Quite the chÂtelain,” drawled Gerald, throwing himself down beside Ellen. He lowered his voice suddenly. “Well, you lost! She is not here!” A sluggish gleam of triumph flickered in his eyes.

Ellen laughed.

“Don’t you fool yourself. Everything points to it. From the condition of Petrovskey’s hair when we arrived, to the jewel case. Besides, I smell her perfume.” She sniffed audibly. “It’s the mixture Bazani put up for her, himself. Very faint, but gets there, my boy.”

He laughed disagreeably. “So do you, Ellen. You make me feel like Dr. Watson. You win the gold needled hypodermic.”

“What are you sniffling about? Have you, too, caught cold?” Olive sat down on the sofa opposite. “Isn’t it too exciting to be laid up here all night? I just adore Petrovskey! He is so cold and wonderful-looking, so distingay!”

“Almost as ’aughty as an English butler,” snarled Gerald, his eyes upon the other end of the room, where Caldenas was examining a portrait with the aid of a small magnifying glass.

Alexis returned.

“Your rooms are ready.” His eyes darted from one face to the other. “Would you like to go to bed?”

Ellen rose with a yawn, her hand clapped against her mouth rhythmically. “Do show us the house first.”

“Yes, please.” Olive’s fingers closed upon his arm. “Lead me to it,” she screamed.

He took them into the dining room. Caldenas was in an ecstasy, but Ellen interrupted impatiently. She pushed by the others, passed through the salon again and out into the hall.

“It’s the bedrooms I want to see.” She hurried up the stairs, with a malicious look at Alexis.

Olive, clinging to his arm like a sack of potatoes, he followed as swiftly as possible, Gerald and the puzzled Spaniard brought up the rear.

Ellen turned into the corridor and stopped before Anne’s door. She tried the knob.

“It’s locked!” she exclaimed, challenging Alexis with her eyes. “I’m sure this must have been Karzimova’s room. Do let us in. I’m crazy to see it.”

Very pale, Alexis disentangled himself from Olive and stepped forward quickly.

“I haven’t the key.” He leaned against the wall to conceal trembling knees. “Karzimova stipulated it should not be used in her absence.”

“Bluebeard, give us the key! Whom are you concealing in there?”

“I think you’re mean,” broke in Olive. “I want to go in, too. They say she is so wicked, you know. Full of secret vices.” She opened empty eyes at the group to inquire plaintively, “What are secret vices?”

“There is nothing concealed that shall not be revealed,” quoted Gerald sanctimoniously.

“You Americans!” laughed Caldenas. “How you love the stolen jam! Is it not so, poor children?”

Under cover of the laughter, Gerald drew nearer to Ellen. “Come on, let’s go,” he whispered. “You can’t expect a fellow to unlock his own doors if he doesn’t want to. Besides, we’ve seen enough!”

“Very well,” Ellen raised her voice. “You’re a tightwad, Mr. Petrovskey, but we give in. You may spank us and put us to bed, like the old woman in the shoe if you want to.”

They trooped back noisily down the hall.

Elvira appeared at the other end of the corridor. Her plump figure looked beautiful to Alexis. “The rooms are ready, Monsieur.”

He sighed with relief. Leading them down another hallway, he entered a distant wing.

“Here you are. Good-night, I hope you’ll be comfortable!” He struggled to conceal his delight.

They parted from him with effusion.

Much later, a solitary figure in a wine-colored dressing gown crept up the stairs and stopped in front of Anne’s door. It scratched at the panel delicately, but received no response.

Wintry dawn, gray, disconsolate, filtered in at Alexis’ window. The dressing gown still about him, he lay face downward upon his solitary bed.