How much should he tell Esther? Or should he tell anything--yet? These were his chief perplexities at the moment. He had believed, his own desire prompting the belief, that Esther had broken with Griffin for good and all and that if she had ever cared for him she did so no longer. But, as she had heard the rumors--he knew, from her own lips, that she had--if he should tell her as much of the truth as he now knew, Elisha Cook’s grandson would immediately become, in her eyes, a martyr. Perhaps a dangerously fascinating martyr, unjustly accused and sacrificing himself to shield some one else. And, convinced of that, she might-- Oh, who could tell what a romantic girl of her age might do! He reached a determination and the Harniss station at the same time. He would tell her nothing for a while. Griffin was leaving for Europe almost immediately. After he had gone--was out of the way and beyond recall--then he could tell, and he would. Varunas and the span were waiting at the platform and Varunas had a telegram in his hand. It, the telegram, was not a sedative for Foster Townsend’s nerves or temper. It was from his lawyers requesting his presence at a very important meeting in their Ostable office that afternoon. He must attend; his presence was necessary. He jammed the telegram into his pocket and swore aloud. Varunas heard him and turned on the driver’s seat. “Eh?” he queried. “Did you speak, Cap’n Foster?” “No.” “Didn’t ye? Funny! I thought I heard you say my name.” “Humph! You flatter yourself.... You’ve got to drive me to Ostable to-day, it seems. Be ready to start right after dinner. Esther’s at home, I suppose; eh?” “Why, no, she ain’t. She’s gone down to Reliance Clark’s. Reliance, she was up to our house most of the forenoon and then Esther went back along with her. Said she didn’t know whether she’d be home to dinner or not.” Somehow this announcement ruffled the Townsend feelings still more. For his niece to treat thus carelessly so important an event as his return was irritating as well as most unusual. “That’s queer,” he growled. “She knew I would be at home for dinner, didn’t she? Yes, of course she did.” “Um-hum. She knew. Nabby reminded her of it just as she and Reliance were goin’ out the door, but she didn’t make no answer. Looked awful sober and--and kind of strange, so Nabby thought.” Townsend ate a lonely dinner and enjoyed it little. Just as he was finishing his pie Esther came in at the front door and went up the stairs to her room. He called to her, but if she heard she did not heed. He called again. Then he put down his fork, rose from the table, and followed her. She was in her room; the door was open, and he entered without knocking. “Well,” he demanded, in a tone half jocular and half serious. “What’s all this? Clear out just when you know I’m due at home, let me eat my dinner all by myself, and then, when you do come in, march upstairs without so much as a hail. What’s the matter? Aren’t sick, are you?”