“Careful! I tell you one thing I’ll be mighty careful of. I’ll be careful to call off this Paris business. That is over and done with, so far as she is concerned. She stays here with me. As for him—well, I’ll attend to him.”
“But, Foster, you must take care what you do. If you’ll only listen to me—”
He was at the door.
“No!” he shouted. “I’ve listened too long already. Listen to you! Why, it was you that put me up to sending her away. Humph! And a fine mess that has got us all into, hasn’t it! No! From now on, I’m handlin’ this affair myself and I don’t want any orders or advice from anybody. You keep your hands off the reins. We’ll see who wins this case. The rascal!”
She followed him to the step and stood looking after him, but he did not look back. She saw him climb to the carriage seat, crack the whip over the backs of the span—the horses were astonished and indignant, for they were not used to such treatment—and move rapidly off up the road. Then she went back to her sewing, but her mind was not upon her work; she foresaw nothing ahead but trouble, trouble for those in the world for; whose happiness she cared most.
CHAPTER XIV
FOSTER TOWNSEND drove straight home, turned the horses and carriage over to the care of Varunas and went into the house. There, in the library, with the portières drawn and the hall door tightly closed, he sprawled in the big chair and, chewing an unlighted cigar, set himself to the task of facing this entirely unforeseen setback. His carefully laid plan had gone to smash; that fact could not be dodged. Paris with Esther in Jane Carter’s company, three thousand miles away from young Griffin, was one thing. Paris, with those two together, and he, Townsend, on this side of the water, was quite another. No, if it was true that Griffin was going there, then Esther was not. So much was certain.
It was a galling conclusion, his pride winced under it. To think that a boy in his twenties had forced a wily, shrewd veteran of his years and experience to back water was almost too much to bear. It was humiliating and the more he pondered over it the angrier he became. The plan had been a good one. He had given it careful consideration before he adopted it. He had tried to think of every possible objection, but such a one as this he would have considered beyond the bounds of possibility. And yet it was so simple. How that Griffin cub must be chuckling in his sleeve. Of course he had seen through the strategy behind the move and with one move of his own had checkmated it. Esther was being sent to Paris to get her away from him, was she? All right, he would go there, too. Easy enough!
Foster Townsend’s big body squirmed in the leather chair. He was tempted, almost resolved, to go straight to Bob Griffin, wherever he might be, even in his grandfather’s house, and have it out between them, man to man—or man to boy. The prospect of an open battle was appealing. And he was practically sure that Elisha Cook would, for once, be fighting on his side. Elisha would, he was willing to bet, be as firmly set against a marriage between a Cook and a Townsend as he was, although their objections would be based upon exactly opposite grounds. It would be amusing, at least, to watch his former partner’s face when he learned why his grandson proposed to leave him—and for whom. For Bob had not told, of course. Humph! Between them they could give that smart young rooster a happy half hour.
It would not do, though; no, it would not do. Mistakes enough had been made and he, Townsend, must not make another. Whatever was done now must be right and he could not afford to be too hasty. At any rate, the first thing to be done was to think of good excuses for canceling Esther’s European trip. He had little time for that and he must act quickly.