, almost, it might
be, with fright. "That's because I'm in love with you," said Alston.
"I've forgotten every other thing that ever happened to me, all except
this miserable thing I've just told you. I had to tell you, so you'd
know the worst of me. Darling Anne!" He liked the sound of it.

"I must go," said Anne.

"You'd better," said Alston. "It'll be much nicer to ask you the rest of
it in a proper place. Anne, I've had so much to do with proper places
I'm sick of 'em. That's why I've begun to say it here. Nothing could be
more improper in all Addington. Think about it. Be ready to tell me when
I come, though that won't be for a long time. I'm going to write you
things, for fear, if I said them, you'd say no. And don't really think.
Just remember you're darling Anne."

She gave him a grave look--Alston wondered afterward if it could
possibly be a reproving one--and, with a fine dignity, walked to the
door. Since he had begun to belie his nature, mischief possessed him. He
wanted to go as far as he audaciously could and taste the sweet and
bitter of her possible kindness, her almost certain blame.

"Good-bye," he said, "darling Anne."

This was as the handle of the door was in his grasp ready to be turned
for her. Anne, still inexplicably grave, was looking at him.

"Good-bye," she said, "Mr. Choate."

He watched her to the head of the stairs, and then shut the door on her
with a click. Alston was conscious of having, for the joy of the moment,
really made a fool of himself. But he didn't let it depress him. He
needed his present cleverness too much to spend a grain of it on
self-reproach. He went to his safe and took out a paper that had been
lying there ready to be used, slipped it into his pocket and went,
before his spirit had time to cool, to see Madame Beattie.

Sophy admitted him and left him in the library, while she went to summon
her. And Madame Beattie came, finding him at the window, his back turned
on the warm breathing presences of Esther's home. If he had penetrated,
for good cause, to Circe's bower, he didn't mean to drink in its subtle
intimacies. At the sound of a step he turned, and Madame Beattie met him
peaceably, with outstretched hand. Alston dropped the hand as soon as
possible. Lydia might swear she was clean and that her peculiarily
second-hand look was the effect of overworn black, but Alston she had
always impressed as much-damaged goods that had lost every conceivable
inviting fre