Alston Choate remembered Esther as he had lately seen her, sitting in her harmonious surroundings, all fragility of body and sweetness of feeling, begging him to undertake the case that would deliver her from Jeffrey because she was afraid--afraid. And here was this horribly self-possessed little devil--he called her a little devil quite plainly in his mind--accusing that flower of gentleness and beauty of a vulgar crime. "My God!" said he, under his breath. And at that instant Anne, flushed and most sweet, hatted and gloved, opened the door and walked in. She bowed to Alston Choate, though she did not take his outstretched hand. He was receiving such professional insult, Anne felt, from one of her kin that she could scarcely expect from him the further grace of shaking hands with her. Lydia, looking at her, saw with an impish glee that Anne, the irreproachable, was angry. There was the spark in her eye, decision in the gesture with which she made at once for Lydia. "Why, Anne," said Lydia, "I never saw you mad before." Tears came into Anne's eyes. She bit her lip. All the proprieties of life seemed to her at stake when she must stand here before this most dignified of men and hear Lydia turn Addington courtesies into farce. "I came to get you," she said, to Lydia. "You must come home with me." "I can't," said Lydia. "I am having a business talk with Mr. Choate. I've asked him to undertake our case." "Our case," Anne repeated, in a perfect despair. "Why, we haven't any case." She turned to Choate and he gave her a confirming glance. "I've been telling your sister that, virtually," said he. "I tell her she doesn't need my services. You may persuade her." "Well," said Lydia cheerfully, rising, for they seemed to her much older than she and, though not to be obeyed on that account, to be placated by outward civilities, "I'm sorry. But if you don't take the case I shall have to go to some one else." "Lydia!" said Anne. Was this the soft creature who crept to her arms of a cold night and who prettily had danced her way into public favour? Alston Choate was looking thoughtful. It was not a story to be spread broadcast over Addington. He temporised. "You see," he ventured, turning again to Lydia with his delightful smile which was, with no forethought of his own, tremendously persuasive, "you haven't told me yet what anybody is to get out of it." "I thought I had," said Lydia, taking heart once more. If he talked reasonably with her, perhaps she could persuade him after all. "Why, don't you see? it's just as easy! I do, and I've only thought of it one night. Don't you see, Madame Beattie's here to hound Jeffrey into paying her for the necklace. That's going to kill him, just kill him. Anne, I should think you could see that."