§4
About half–past nine that night came a violent pull at the bell of Mrs. Bindon Botting, and a young man in a dress suit, a gibus and other marks of exalted social position stood without. Athwart his white expanse of breast lay a ruddy bar of patterned silk that gave him a singular distinction and minimised the glow of a few small stains of burgundy. His gibus was thrust back and exposed a disorder of hair that suggested a reckless desperation. He had, in fact, burnt his boats and refused to join the ladies. Coote, in the subsequent conversation, had protested quietly, "You're going on all right, you know," to which Kipps had answered he didn't care a "Eng" about that, and so, after a brief tussle with Walshingham's detaining arm, had got away. "I got something to do," he said. "'Ome." And here he was—panting an extraordinary resolve. The door opened, revealing the pleasantly furnished hall of Mrs. Bindon Botting, lit by rose–tinted lights, and in the centre of the picture, neat and pretty in black and white, stood Ann. At the sight of Kipps her colour vanished.
"Ann," said Kipps, "I want to speak to you. I got something to say to you right away. See? I'm―"
"This ain't the door to speak to me at," said Ann.
"But, Ann! It's something special."
"You spoke enough," said Ann.
"Ann!"
"Besides. That's my door, down there. Basement. If I was caught talking at this door―!"
"But, Ann, I'm―"
"Basement after nine. Them's my hours. I'm a servant and likely to keep one. If you're calling here, what name please? But you got your friends and I got mine and you mustn't go talking to me."
"But, Ann, I want to ask you―"
Someone appeared in the hall behind Ann. "Not here," said Ann. "Don't know anyone of that name," and incontinently slammed the door in his face.
"What was that, Ann?" said Mrs. Bindon Botting's invalid Aunt.
"Ge'm a little intoxicated, Ma'am—asking for the wrong name, Ma'am."
"What name did he want?" asked the lady, doubtfully.
"No name that we know, Ma'am," said Ann, hustling along the hall towards the kitchen stairs.
"I hope you weren't too short with him, Ann."
"No shorter than he deserved, considering 'ow he be'aved," said Ann, with her bosom heaving.
And Mrs. Bindon Botting's invalid Aunt, perceiving suddenly that this call had some relation to Ann's private and sentimental trouble, turned, after one moment of hesitating scrutiny, away.
She was an extremely sympathetic lady, was Mrs. Bindon Botting's invalid Aunt; she took an interest in the servants, imposed piety, extorted confessions and followed human nature, blushing and lying defensively, to its reluctantly revealed recesses, but Ann's sense of privacy was strong and her manner under drawing out and encouragement, sometimes even alarming….
So the poor old lady went upstairs again.