He laughed warily.
“I’ll confess my expectations did not rise to a tête-à-tête. I feel decidedly flattered.” His ironic gaze mocked her politely over the rim of the cocktail.
She swept to her feet and led him toward the Gothic archway at the end of the room.
“The beautiful solitude will only last during dinner.” She smiled at him over a massive shoulder. “After that, the usual horde will probably invade. So we must make the most of our time.”
Torrigiani’s heart leapt upwards once more. So there was to be a crowd after all? Was Anne to make one of them? Or would she disappoint him again, as she had this afternoon? It was the first time she had ever broken an engagement, and his spirit still smarted from the defection.
With a lighter step he followed his hostess. Stopping at the threshold of the dining room, he exclaimed with involuntary admiration.
The white-washed walls of the small square room were covered with varicolored caricatures of Ellen and the numberless notorieties who formed the horde. They sprawled from paneled baseboard to black oaken ceiling, lurid and ludicrous. Intimate smile and gesture captured in ruthless hyperbole.
“I never saw anything so original in my life! It makes one think of a curtain from the Chauve Souris!”
The Marchese went close to the wall and scanned it eagerly. Although his knowledge of New York celebrities was limited, he found several whom he recognized. Their names fell off his lips with a small fanfare of triumph.
His childish pleasure amused Ellen. She stepped to his side and pointed out several more, including herself as Juliet. “I was dismal in that,” she remarked plaintively. “Even the Shakespearian flapper doesn’t suit my style.”