SHE did not sit there long. For a few minutes only she permitted herself the luxury of tears. Then she rose, cleared away the remains of the impromptu wedding feast, hastened out to the kitchen, bathed her face in the cold water from the pump, dried it on the roller towel, patted her hair into place, and returned to the sitting-room. There was another interview in store for her that night, she was sure of it, and it was likely to be the hardest trial of all. She must be ready. So she sat down again in the rocker and tried to plan exactly what she should say to Foster Townsend when he came, demanding his niece.
She had been sitting there for perhaps twenty minutes when she heard his step upon the walk. She did not wait for him to knock, but opened the door at once.
“Come in, Foster,” she said.
He did not bid her good evening, nor did he speak until he had crossed the threshold. He glanced about him, strode to the door of the room adjoining, looked in there, and turned back.
“Where is she?” he asked, sharply.
Reliance faced him bravely.
“She isn’t here, Foster,” she replied.
“Bosh! Of course she is here. Come, come! don’t fool with me. Where is she?”
“I am not fooling, Foster. Esther isn’t here. She has been here, but she has gone.”
He stared at her. The expression upon her face caught and held his attention. He took a step toward her.