Bob was in trouble. He had come there fully determined to make one more plea to Esther’s common sense and justice. He meant to make her understand how impossible it would be for him to leave her, how their separation would be precisely what her scheming uncle had hoped and for which he had planned. And now, in Foster Townsend’s presence, he could not tell her that. And this cross-examination was placing him in a very bad position. If he said that he was not going until she did the fat would be in the fire. If he said that he was going without her, she would accept that statement as the promise she had demanded. He did not know what to say. “Bob,” persisted Esther, “I asked you a question. Didn’t you hear it? You are going abroad now--very soon--aren’t you?” He set his teeth. He must make some sort of answer. “I-- Oh, I--I don’t know exactly what I shall do,” he stammered. “Grandfather’s sickness has--he isn’t very well and--and perhaps I shouldn’t leave him, for the present.” Esther was silent. Foster Townsend stretched his legs and jingled the change in his pocket. “I see,” he observed, in a tone of understanding solicitude which made Bob long to choke him; “that’s it, eh? Well, now that’s the right way for you to feel and it’s gratifying, these days, to find young folks so thoughtful of their elders. What does--er--what does your grandfather say about it? Thinks you had better stay at home, does he?” “I haven’t talked with him about it yet. Not since he was taken sick.” “Oh, haven’t you? Well, you will, of course. And when you do I guess likely he will tell you to go just the same. A friend of mine here in Harniss met your Denboro doctor yesterday and he says the doctor told him that Cook would be as well as ever inside of a week. He wanted you to go in the first place, didn’t he?” “He was willing I should go.” “Then I guess he will be just as willing now. From what I hear he thinks the world of you and he wouldn’t let you do anything that would hurt you any more than you would do anything to hurt him. No, nor Esther here would to hurt me; eh, Esther?... But there, your business isn’t mine, as I know of. Hello, here’s Seymour! You two haven’t met yet, I guess.” The hall door had opened and a young man entered the library. He was a dark-haired, dark-eyed young fellow, with good looks far beyond the ordinary, and he was dressed in a summer suit of light gray which fitted perfectly and was very becoming. Foster Townsend rose from the easy-chair. “Esther and I have been wondering what had become of you, Seymour,” he observed. “Been for a walk, have you?” The young man smiled, showing teeth as perfect as the rest of him. “I went to the post office, that’s all, Captain Townsend,” he said. “I tried to coax Esther to go with me, but she wouldn’t.” “Guess she was expecting a caller, maybe. Anyway, she has got one. Esther, suppose you do the introducing.” Esther colored slightly, but she accepted the suggestion.