She glared at him rapaciously, as if she were trying to suck his secret from him with her eyes. Almost too astonished to speak, he returned her strange look unflinchingly.
“Didn’t you get my telephone message?”
“Oh, that! Of course. But it’s such an old trick! A sick friend wanting Anne at the last minute. It was so very transparent. Things simply don’t happen like that!”
He contained his anger with difficulty.
“You are a very astute lady, but this time a mistaken one, as well,” he replied quietly. “Mrs. Schuyler actually did go to a sick friend, and I myself put her into her car and saw her off before telephoning you.”
Ellen opened sleepy eyes. So it was true, after all?
“But who was it? Who is ill?” she inquired eagerly.
One of the exotic twins removed the hors d’œuvres.
“I don’t know,” replied the Marchese curtly. “But as we were about to get into Mrs. Schuyler’s car to join you” (he emphasized the last three words with a little bow), “a taxi drove up to the curb and a young girl jumped out, ran up to Anne, and said something I did not quite catch about somebody being very ill and calling for her constantly. So Anne went with her, of course. What else could she do?”
“And left you on the curb? Chewing your mustache in a properly thwarted manner!” capped Ellen, exhibiting a masterly knowledge of histrionics.