“Perhaps you are right,” he admitted. “I guess I am not very good company; shan’t be until I get over this. When I come again I’ll try to behave more like a Christian. I am awfully sorry, dear. You will make allowances and forgive me, won’t you? Good heavens, think what a disappointment this has been for me. All my plans--” “They were my plans, too.” “Yes, so they were. Well, when may I come again? I shan’t have to wait until Friday, shall I? This little bit of a half hour doesn’t really count, you know. May I come to-morrow night?” “No. I want you to take time to think this all over. And when you come I want to hear you say that you will go ahead just as you intended.” “Without you?” “Certainly; without me for the present.” “Esther Townsend, are _you_ in on this? Are _you_ trying to get rid of me?” She looked at him. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she said, icily. “Good-night.” “Oh, I didn’t mean it! You know I didn’t. I am--I am talking like a fool, of course. But you don’t really expect me to go across the Atlantic Ocean and leave you on this side? You don’t really ask me to do that?” “I do. It is for your sake. For the sake of your work and all it means. I don’t want to see you again until you are ready to promise me just that.” His chin lifted. “Then I am afraid you won’t see me very soon,” he declared. “That is for you to say. If you don’t care enough, or trust me enough, to make a promise I ask you to make, especially when what I ask is entirely for your good, then--well then, perhaps you had better not come at all.” “Esther, the other night you said--you told me-- And now you want me to go off three thousand miles and leave you! Well, I must say!” “Bob, will you make me that promise?” “I--I-- Oh, I don’t know! It doesn’t seem as if I could.” “And if you do make it, will you keep it? You promised me weeks ago that you would tell your grandfather of your coming to this house to see me. Have you told him?” He frowned. That promise had been on his mind every waking moment since it was made. Time and time again he had been on the point of telling Elisha Cook of his visits to the Townsend mansion, but always the time had seemed inopportune. He was no coward, but he knew, better than she or any one else knew, the storm which was sure to follow. It might mean a complete break between his grandfather and himself, and he loved the old man dearly. Yet he had meant to keep his promise, still meant to do so. He shook his head. “Well, no, Esther, I haven’t yet. We have had one tremendous row in the family lately, when I told him I was going abroad. I haven’t had the spunk to risk another. I shall tell him, though--and soon. Please don’t think--” “Oh, hush! What need is there to think? I can see. Good-night.”