It was an attitude that could not be beaten and reluctantly Harniss was forced to that realization. At home, when the inevitable callers came, eager to learn details, ready to offer sympathy and express indignation at Esther’s wickedness, it was just the same. Foster Townsend flatly refused to discuss the subject. The Reverend Mr. Colton ventured to persist a trifle more than the rest. “Of course, Captain Townsend,” he said, sadly, “we all know the burden you are bearing. If you knew--I shall be glad to tell you if you wish to hear--the expressions of sympathy for you which are poured into my ears, they might perhaps comfort you a little. And the poor, misguided girl! Ungrateful--yes. But--” Townsend, who was standing by the chair in the library, a cigar in one hand and a match in the other, swung about. “Here, here!” he broke in, gruffly. “What is all this about sympathy? Sympathy for what?” The minister was taken aback. “Why--why,” he faltered, “I mean-- Why, we all know what a shock to you this--this must be. Your niece--” “Sshh!” The match was scratched and held to the end of the cigar. Townsend blew a puff of smoke. “Colton,” he observed, in a tone so polite as to be almost ominous, “you came here to talk about church business, didn’t you? That was what I understood you to say you came for.” “Why--why, yes, I did. But, in my position as--as a friend of long standing, as well as your clergyman, I ventured--” “In a business talk I like to stick to business. And,” with a slight emphasis, “the church _is_ your business. Well, what about it?”