“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.