She did not heed. The tears were running down her cheeks but they were tears of anger and humiliation. Her utterance was choked with sobs and she was on the verge of hysterics.
“Oh, how can you talk to me like this!” she stormed. “Say that I ‘sneaked’ and that I shut myself up with—with him, as if—as if— Oh, you ought to be ashamed to even think such things! Hinting that he and I—I’ll never speak to you again! I hate you! I’m going away from this house to-morrow morning. I don’t care what becomes of me! I—oh—!”
She rushed from the room and the door banged behind her. Foster Townsend took a step toward it.
“Esther!” he called. “Here, Esther! Come back!”
She did not come back; he heard her run up the stairs and a distant slam announced that the door of her own room, the pink room, had closed also. He swore disgustedly and, stalking to the library, threw himself into the leather chair. There, behind a cigar which he did not enjoy, he sat for an hour or more trying to think his way out of this new complication. The sole conclusion which he reached was the unflattering one that he had made a mess of things.
This conclusion remained unshaken all the next forenoon. Esther did not come down for breakfast; she had a headache, so she told Nabby. Foster Townsend did not enjoy his breakfast, either. Later, when on his regular round of inspection, from the door of the stable he saw his niece leave the house and walk hurriedly off up the street. The suspicion that she might be going to meet Bob Griffin crossed his mind, but it was only momentary. He did not believe she was going there. He would have asked her where she was going, but his pride would not let him. He refused the impulse to call after her and tried to find satisfaction in berating Varunas for some trivial oversight in cleaning the stable.
Dinner was another lonely meal for him. Esther had not returned and neither Nabby nor the maid knew where she was. She came in, however, at two and went straight to her room. He went out and, a short time later, he walked, without knocking, into the little sitting-room of the Clark cottage. Reliance was there and she did not appear greatly surprised to see him.
“Hello, Foster,” she said. “So you’ve come, too, have you?”
He grunted. “That confounded brother of yours isn’t on deck, is he?” he asked.
“No, he’s tendin’ the office. Didn’t you see him? I saw you go in the shop door.”