or away from it he could not
tell. All the paths were mazes and the lines of them bewildering to his
eyes. He would wake in the night and wish there were one straight path.
If he could have known that at this time Reardon and Alston Choate had
also, in differing ways, this same consciousness of Esther's calling it
could not have surprised him. He would not have known, in his own
turmoil, whether to urge them to go or not to go. Esther did not seem
to him a disturbing force, only a disconcerting one. You might have to
meet it to have done with it.

But now at Weedon's office door he paused a moment, hearing a voice, the
little man's own, slightly declamatory, even in private, and went in.
And he wished he had not gone, for Miss Amabel sat at the table, signing
papers, and he instantly guessed the signatures were not in the
pursuance of her business but to the advantage of Weedon Moore. Whatever
she might be doing, she was not confused at seeing him. Her designs
could be shouted on the housetops. But Moore gave him a foolishly
cordial greeting mingled with a confused blotting of signatures and a
hasty shuffling of the papers.

"Sit down, sit down," he said. "You haven't looked me up before, not
since--"

"No," said Jeff. "Not since I came back. I don't think I ever did. I've
come now in reference to a rather scandalous business."

Miss Amabel moved her chair back. She was about to rise.

"No, please," said Jeff. "Don't go. I'd rather like you to know that I'm
making certain threats to Moore here, in case I have to carry them out.
I'd rather you'd know I have some grounds. I never want you to think the
worst of me."

"I always think the best of you," said Miss Amabel, with dignity yet
helplessly. She sat there in an attitude of waiting, her grave glance
going from one to the other, as she tried to understand.

"Madame Beattie," said Jeff curtly to Moore, "is likely to give you some
personal details of her life. If you print them you'll settle with me
afterward."

"O Jeffrey!" said Miss Amabel. "Why put it so unpleasantly? Mr. Moore
would never print anything which could annoy you or any one. We mustn't
assume he would."

Moore, standing, one fat and not overclean hand on the table, looked a
passionate gratitude to her. He seemed about to gush into protest. Of
course he wouldn't. Of course he would publish only what was of the
highest character and also what everybody wanted him to.

"That's all," said Jeff. He