He started from his trance, glanced at his watch, noted that no attendants were in sight, and stole hastily away from the scene of his orgie. But in his agitation he was guilty of the stupidity of the novice--he left the book on the reading-desk; he left it open at the second page of “Frothingham.” An attendant was watching afar off; as soon as Allerton had slipped away he swooped, full of idle yet energetic curiosity. When he saw that the book was a Burke’s Peerage he was puzzled; then he turned back a page, and his eye caught the name “Frothingham.” Like all Boston he knew that the Earl was in town, was staying at _the_ Mrs. Staunton’s, “on the water side of Beacon Street.” And like all Boston, he had heard the rumour that the Earl was trying to marry “Celia” Allerton, the second heiress of Boston. Thus, the sight of that name caused a smile of delight to irradiate his fat, pasty face with its drapery of soft, scant grey whiskers. He looked round for someone to enable him to enjoy his discovery of a great man’s weakness by tattling it. He saw Gilson, industriously “loading up” for a lecture on “colour in Greek sculpture and architecture.” He hastened to him and touched him on the shoulder. “Come with me,” he whispered. Gilson, a natural gossip, had not lived four years in Boston without becoming adept in the local sign language of his species. He rose and followed to the table whereon was spread the damning proof of Allerton’s guilt. “Look at this,” whispered the attendant, pointing to the name “Frothingham.” Gilson looked, first at the page, then at the attendant. His expression was disappointment--he cared not a rap about Frothingham or about Burke’s genealogical romances. “But who do you think was sitting here?” whispered the attendant, his eyes sparkling. “Sitting here, reading away at this for more than an hour?” “Frothingham?” said Gilson, in the reading-room undertone. “Those adventurers are always crazy about themselves.” “No--it was--Edward--_Allerton_!” As he hesitated on the name the attendant shot his big head forward; at the climax he jerked it back, regarding the artist with delighted eyes. “You don’t _say_ so!” exclaimed Gilson, and then they had a fit of silent laughter. “Don’t give _me_ away,” cautioned the attendant.