"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."