He held out his arms. Then, as she made no move nor spoke, the temper, which he had fought so hard to conquer, got the better of him again.
“All right,” he said, turning. “All right, then. I said I wasn’t a fool. I was wrong, I guess; I have been one, even if I’m not now. You care a whole lot more for your old scamp of an uncle than you do for me, and you can order me out and let this Covell stay.... I have learned a few things myself this evening.... Good-night!”
He strode from the room and, a moment later, the front door of the Townsend mansion closed behind him.
This time the parting was absolute, irrevocable, final; they were sure of it, both of them. And they were too angry to care—then.
CHAPTER XVI
FOSTER TOWNSEND was noticing a change in his niece’s manner and behavior. The change, it seemed to him, dated from the evening when Seymour Covell and Bob Griffin renewed their acquaintanceship in the library, when they met in his own and Esther’s presence. At least, if not that evening, then certainly the next morning. Prior to that, for two weeks or more, she had been, he thought, unusually grave and quiet, and at times in her manner toward him there was—or he fancied there was—a certain constraint which he did not understand. He did not question her concerning it; that troubled conscience of his made him not too eager to press an understanding. She could not have learned from Jane Carter the real reason why her European trip had been given up. He had sworn the Carter woman to secrecy and her obligation to him was too great to allow her to risk dropping a hint to Esther in the letters which the latter occasionally received.
Nevertheless there was something wrong. He thought it quite probable that, as Griffin did not call, the pair might have had a falling out. Soon, however, he heard of Elisha Cook’s illness and Bob’s absence was explained. The telegram announcing Seymour Covell’s visit, followed by the prompt appearance of that young man at the Townsend mansion took his mind from other matters and he ceased to wonder concerning Esther’s odd behavior. Then, all at once, her behavior became still more odd, although in an exactly opposite way, and was again forced upon his attention.
From the morning following the Griffin call—a surprisingly short one it had seemed to him considering their fortnight’s separation—her gravity and preoccupation disappeared. Now she very seldom went to her room to remain there alone for an hour or more. She was with him or with Covell the greater part of every day and in the evenings. She was always ready to sing or play when asked and from being but passively interested in the “Pinafore” production she became very eager and seemed to look forward to each rehearsal. These rehearsals were almost nightly as the date of performance drew near, and between times Josephine and Rackstraw spent hours practicing their scenes together in the parlor at or beside the piano. And Bob Griffin came no more to the house.
Esther’s attitude toward Seymour Covell had changed also. When he first came she was pleasant and agreeable when in his company, but she never sought that company. In fact, her uncle was inclined to feel that she kept away from it as much as she politely could. There was no doubt whatever that Covell sought hers. From the moment of their introduction he had sought it. During his first meal at the Townsend table he, as Nabby told her husband, repeating what the maid had told her, looked at Esther “a whole lot more than he did at what was on his plate.”
“Did she look at him as much as all that?” Varunas had asked.