Foster Townsend’s big body squirmed in the leather chair. He was tempted, almost resolved, to go straight to Bob Griffin, wherever he might be, even in his grandfather’s house, and have it out between them, man to man--or man to boy. The prospect of an open battle was appealing. And he was practically sure that Elisha Cook would, for once, be fighting on his side. Elisha would, he was willing to bet, be as firmly set against a marriage between a Cook and a Townsend as he was, although their objections would be based upon exactly opposite grounds. It would be amusing, at least, to watch his former partner’s face when he learned why his grandson proposed to leave him--and for whom. For Bob had not told, of course. Humph! Between them they could give that smart young rooster a happy half hour. It would not do, though; no, it would not do. Mistakes enough had been made and he, Townsend, must not make another. Whatever was done now must be right and he could not afford to be too hasty. At any rate, the first thing to be done was to think of good excuses for canceling Esther’s European trip. He had little time for that and he must act quickly. So, setting his teeth, he endeavored to forget anger, hurt pride, and all the rest of the non-essentials. The checkmating was partly his own fault. He had taken a woman’s advice, instead of depending upon his own judgment, and was paying for it. It was Reliance Clark who had put into his head the fool notion of sending his niece away. Neither she, nor any one else, should put another there. Henceforward he would, as he had told her, handle the reins. And the race was by no means lost. He was in his room on the second floor, writing a letter, when he heard Esther’s voice in the library. “Uncle,” she was calling. “Uncle Foster, where are you?” “Here I am,” he answered, “I’ll be down in a minute.” He signed the letter he had written and addressed the envelope to Mrs. Jane Carter in Boston. He had given her orders, short, sharp and compelling. She was not to waste time asking questions. She was to write what he told her to write and do it at once. And when he saw her he would tell her why. He was as sorry as she could be that the affair had turned out as it had. Esther’s good humor at supper time was as pronounced as it had been in the morning. She was nervous, however; he could see that. He did his best to appear good-humored also. When they were in the library together the cause for her nervousness was disclosed. She told him at once about Bob Griffin’s going to Paris to study art. His reception of the news was far different from what she feared it might be. He appeared to regard it as a good thing for Bob to do. “Why, Uncle Foster!” she exclaimed. “Aren’t you awfully surprised? I was, when Bob told me, last evening. I had no idea he even thought of such a thing--for the present, at least.”