"Why don't you speak," said Alston, in a rage of delight in her, "you little dumb person, you?"
Anne did better. She got her hands out of his and lifted them to draw his face again to hers.
"How silly we are," said Anne. "And the door is swinging open, and it'll let all the cold in on Farvie's feet."
Alston said a few more things of his own, wild things he was surprised at and forgot immediately and that she was always to remember, and they really parted now with the ceremonial of easy kissing. But both of them had forgotten about mayors.
Jeff, with the returns to take her, that night before going home ran in to Amabel. He believed he ought to be the first to tell her. She would be disappointed, for after all Weedon Moore was her candidate. As he got to the top of the steps Moore came scuttling out at the front door and Jeff stood aside to let him pass. He walked in, calling to her as he went. She did not answer, but he found her in the library, standing, a figure of quivering dignity, of majesty hurt and humbled. When she saw him Amabel's composure broke, and she gave a sob or two, and then twice said his name.
"What is it?" said Jeff.
He went to her and she faced him, the colour running over her face.
"That man—" she said, and stopped.
"Moore?"
"Yes. He has insulted me."