"Esther!" said he. There was no pretence now of being on terms too distant to let him use her name.
She looked up at him, softly and appealingly, though he was not looking at her. But Esther, if she had played Othello, would have blacked herself all over. Alston began again in a voice of what sounded like an extreme of irritation.
"For God's sake, tell me about this thing."
"You know all I do," she said brokenly.
"I don't know anything," said Choate. "You tell me your husband——"
"Don't call him that," she entreated.
"Your husband entered this house and took the necklace. I want to know where he took it from."
"She told you," said Esther scornfully.
He gained a little courage now and ventured to look at her. If she could repel Madame Beattie's insinuation, it must mean she had something on her side. And when he looked he wondered, in a rush of pity, how he could have felt anything for that crushed figure but ruth and love. So when he spoke again his voice was gentler, and Esther's courage leaped to meet it.
"I am told the necklace was in your bag. How did it get there?"