Townsend did not understand. “A cook!” he snorted. “Whose cook? What does she want? What in the devil is she doing at the front door?” Nabby raised a warning hand. “Sshh!” she begged, in alarm. “My soul and body, Cap’n Foster! he’ll hear you if you holler like that.... It ain’t that kind of a cook. It’s a--a ’Lisha Cook.” “_What!_” He leaped from the chair. Esther rose, too. She caught his sleeve. “Hush, Uncle Foster!” she whispered. “Nabby doesn’t mean old Mr. Cook himself. I am sure she doesn’t.” Something in her tone caused her uncle to look down at her. A thought came to him. “Humph!” he grunted. “Do you know who it is, Esther?” “No-o. No, I don’t. But I just wondered if--you know you said he _might_ come and--” He interrupted. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “Yes, yes.... Is it young Griffin, Nabby?” Nabby nodded. “That’s just who ’tis,” she said. “_He’s_ a Cook, ain’t he? And when I see him standin’ there right in front of me, as bold as brass, I vow I--” Townsend broke in once more. He laughed, shortly. “I see,” he said. “Well, bring him in, Nabby.” Nabby gasped. “You mean fetch him in _here_?” she demanded, incredulously. “Yes. And hurry up about it.” Then, turning to his niece, he added, “Told you he would come, didn’t I, Esther? He’s a Cook, right enough.” But when Bob followed Nabby into the library he greeted him pleasantly, bade him be seated, and even offered him a cigar. He was the least embarrassed of the three. Esther was confused and Bob, himself, was not wholly self-possessed. He apologized for calling without an invitation, but said he just simply could not wait longer to see how the portrait looked in its new quarters. “I know you are surprised to see me here, Captain Townsend,” he went on. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have come. My family and yours--are--well, they aren’t, of course. But I did want to see that portrait.” Townsend nodded. “Natural enough you should,” he agreed. “And you didn’t bring your family with you, I guess likely. Well, the picture is in the parlor and Esther will show it to you. If you will excuse me I’m going upstairs. I’ve got some letters to write.” He went out, leaving the two alone. Esther had not expected this and was not altogether pleased. She comprehended--or thought she did--that her uncle’s leaving her alone with the caller was his way of showing that he trusted her. It was very noble of him, but it made her uncomfortable, almost as if she were doing something wicked. Consequently her manner was distrait and her replies to Bob’s sallies brief and perfunctory. The call was a short one. He left before ten, but at the door he said: “You’ll come down to the shanty again before long, won’t you, Esther?” She shook her head. “No,” she replied. “I shan’t come there any more.” “Why not?” “Because Uncle Foster thinks I shouldn’t. He says people would talk if I did. He is right, of course. Perhaps they are talking now.”