She was on her way to the door.
“I am going to tell him I can’t see him to-night,” she said.
“No, no! Don’t do any such thing. Of course you’ll see him. You’ve got some news for him, too. He’ll be surprised, of course—and delighted, maybe.”
There was an odd significance in the tone of this last speech which caused her to turn quickly and look at him. At that moment Bob’s voice was heard in the hall and, an instant later, he entered the library. One glance at the pair made him aware that he had interrupted a scene of some kind. Esther’s eyes were wet and her manner oddly excited. Her “good evening” was almost perfunctory and she kept looking at her uncle instead of at him. Foster Townsend, also, seemed a little queer. His handshake was as off-hand as usual; Bob never considered it more than a meaningless condescension to the formalities. That there was behind it any real cordiality he doubted. Esther’s uncle could scarcely be expected to love him; that was natural enough, considering whose grandson he was. And there was an occasional tartness or sarcasm in the Townsend speech and a look or two in his direction from the Townsend eyes, which confirmed his suspicion that, although Captain Foster, for some reason, permitted him to call at the mansion, he was far from overjoyed to see him there.
To-night—or perhaps he imagined it—the sarcasm was even more in evidence.
“Hello, Griffin!” said the captain. “How are you?”
Bob thanked him and said that he was well.
“That’s good. Painted any more pictures to give away, lately?”
Bob smilingly shook his head.
“Not yet,” he said.