“I can’t think at all--now,” she confessed. “I-- Well, you have taken my breath away. Are you sure-- But I mustn’t talk about it to-night. It is eleven o’clock and you must go. The next time I see you you will tell me all about it, of course.” “Of course. And that will be Tuesday evening, or sooner. But tell me this: Aren’t you glad?” “Of course I am glad. You know I am.... Good-night.” He lingered for an instant. This was not the sort of “good-night” he had counted upon when he came. But it was a part of the bargain. He had sworn to be “game.” “Good-night, Esther,” he said, and walked down the path. CHAPTER XII When Esther entered the dining room next morning she found her uncle already seated at the breakfast table reading a letter. The remainder of the mail brought up from the post office by Varunas lay beside his plate unopened. The letter seemed to be interesting, for although he looked up to bid her good-morning, he returned to the reading immediately. When he reached the foot of the last page he muttered an exclamation; shook his head, and, turning back to the beginning, read the letter through once more. “What is it, Uncle Foster?” she asked, after a moment. “Anything important?” He nodded, absently. “Eh?” he queried. “Important?... Why, yes, I guess so--maybe.” “It isn’t bad news? Nothing has gone wrong with the lawsuit?” “Eh? No, no. Nothing to do with that. It is.... Humph! I’ll tell you about it while we eat. How are you feeling this morning? All shipshape and ready for the day’s run, eh?” “Yes. I am feeling very well, thank you.” Something in her tone caused him to glance up quickly. He gave her an appraising look. “Humph!” he grunted. “Why, yes, you do seem to be pretty well up to the top notch, that’s a fact. I haven’t seen as much color in your cheeks or snap in your eye for more than a week. What has done it? Been dreaming about singing to all those good-looking Frenchmen, have you?” She laughed. She was in good spirits, wonderfully so. The color he had mentioned deepened under his gaze. “Oh, no!” she replied, lightly. “Not exactly that.” “Must be something. Did you and that Griffin have an especially nice evening?” This was perilously near the truth. A part of the evening he mentioned had been anything but pleasant, but for hours before falling asleep she had been thinking of Bob’s great news and what it would mean to both of them. Paris alone--or with only Mrs. Carter--had not been too alluring, in spite of its glorious fulfillment of her hope. But Paris with Bob--or at least with Bob not too far away--that was different. She laughed again, to cover her confusion. She would tell him what Bob intended doing, she had made up her mind to tell him, but before she could speak the maid came in with the breakfast and while she was there telling was, of course, impossible.