Esther was late in returning home that afternoon. The portrait at last
was finished. Even Bob was reluctantly obliged to admit that it was as
nearly perfect as he could make it, and his Wapatomac friend had seen
it and approved. The final sitting was a long one, however, and it
was nearly supper time when she hurried up the path to the side door
of the mansion. Her uncle was in the library and, although he looked
up from his paper and nodded when she entered, it seemed to her that
his greeting was not as hearty as usual. And during supper he spoke
scarcely a word. Her by no means easy conscience made her apprehensive
and when, after the meal was over, he bade her come into the parlor,
she followed him fearfully. Something was going to happen, she did not
dare guess what.
He closed the door behind him. “Sit down, Esther,” he ordered. She did
so. He remained standing. He took a turn or two up and down the room
and then swung about and faced her, his hands in his trouser pockets.
“Where did you go this afternoon?” he asked, bluntly, his eyes fixed
upon her face.
She started, colored, and caught her breath with a gasp.
“This afternoon?” she faltered. “Why--why, I don’t know. I--”
“Come, come!” impatiently. “That’s foolishness. Of course you know.
Where did you go when you left here, after dinner?”
She did not answer. His shaggy brows drew together.
“I don’t wonder you don’t want to tell me,” he snapped. “You needn’t.
It isn’t necessary. I know where you were. You were down in that fish
shanty of Eldridge’s and that young Griffin was with you. That is so,
isn’t it?”
She was pale, but she no longer hesitated. Her reply was promptly given.
“Yes,” she said.
He nodded, grimly. “I’m glad you don’t lie about it, at any rate,” he
said. “And you have been going there for a fortnight, haven’t you?”
“No. Not for a fortnight. I have been there five times altogether.”
“Humph! Why didn’t you tell me what you were up to? Did you think I
wouldn’t be interested?”
“No.”
“Then why did you keep it to yourself?”
She met his look with one as steady.
“Because--well, because he was painting my picture--a portrait of
me--and I--we didn’t want you to know about it until it was finished.”
“Is that so!” sarcastically. “Well, well! Did you intend to tell me
when it was finished?”
“Of course.”
“Humph!... I wonder.”
Her eyes were beginning to flash. “You needn’t wonder,” she said. “I am
not lying.”
If he had been more calm, more like his usual cautious and wily self,
he would have comprehended that the glint in those eyes of hers was
a danger signal which it might be best to heed. But he was angry and
chagrined. Ever since Millard Clark had told him of the meetings in
the Eldridge shanty he had been brooding over the disclosure. He was
furious at her for keeping the secret from him and more furious at
himself for being so easily hoodwinked. His serene self-confidence was
decidedly shaken. Apparently this skittish colt was not so completely
broken to harness as he had supposed. How many other secrets might
she be hiding behind that innocent exterior? And the thought that a
grandson of his arch enemy should have shared a secret with her was the
crowning ignominy.
“It depends on what you call a lie, I should say,” he growled. “If
slipping out of this house time after time and pretending to me that--”
“I didn’t pretend anything. If you had asked me I should have told you.
I haven’t done anything that I am ashamed of. Not a single thing.”
“You haven’t! Well, then I’m ashamed for you. Sneaking down to that
God-forsaken place a half dozen times a week and shutting yourself up
with that--that cub isn’t--”
“Stop!” She sprang to her feet, her fists clinched and her cheeks
ablaze. “You _shan’t_ say such things to me!” she cried. “You haven’t
any right to say them. I don’t care if you are--if you have done
everything in the world for me. You needn’t do any more. I was--I
was going to tell you all about it, every word, just as soon as your
birthday came, and give you the picture. I-- Oh, I thought you would
like it! It was going to be a surprise and--and--”
“Here!” he broke in. “Hold on! What’s all this?”
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.”
“I saw that Makepeace woman. She said you were in here.”
“Yes, I’ve been in the house most of the day, except at mail time. I
brought my work in here. I rather expected you might come.”
“You did? Why?”
“Oh, because--well, I understand it is squally weather up at your house
just now.”
He glanced at her. Then he sat down in the rocker and crossed his
knees.
“Esther’s been here, hasn’t she?” he growled. “So here is where she
went. Well, I guessed as much.”
“I should think you might. Yes, she was here and ate dinner here, what
little she did eat. Foster, you can handle men but you are a dreadful
poor hand with women--and always were.”
He snorted. “Damn women!” he exclaimed, fervently.
“Yes, that is what you do, I guess, and it isn’t good policy. Now, if
you want to, you can tell me your side of all this rumpus. Esther has
told me hers.”
He told it. It was only when he told how and from where he had learned
of the portrait painting that she interrupted.
“Oh!” she said, nodding ominously. “Oh, Millard was responsible, was
he? Humph!... Well, never mind; he and I will talk later on. Go ahead.”
He described the scene in the parlor, keeping nothing back. Her lips
were twitching when he finished. He looked up, caught the expression,
and smiled, though rather ruefully.
“It was a fool business, I guess,” he admitted; “but I was mad clear
through. If it had been anybody else. What in the devil did she pick
out old Cook’s grandson for? I won’t have her sparking around with him,
not by a whole lot.”
“She isn’t sparking around with him. He is a nice boy, I guess; every
one says he is, and a smart one, too. It’s the picture he is making of
her in all her pretty things that caught her fancy. It would catch any
girl’s. It must be a good picture, too. Esther says it is wonderful. I
should like to see it.”
He twisted in the rocker. “I don’t care if it is a panorama,” he
snapped. “He had the cheek of a brass monkey to paint it. And, by the
Lord Harry, if he so much as speaks to her again I’ll break his neck.”
Reliance laughed. “He is a pretty husky specimen, from what I hear,”
she observed. “He might break yours first, Foster, if it came to
that.... Oh, where is your common sense?” she demanded, with a sudden
return to seriousness. “You have been young yourself. Your own father
swore you shouldn’t be a sailor, and the upshot of that was that you
ran away to sea the first chance you got. Don’t you know that, for
young folks, the forbidden thing is always the temptin’ thing? Esther
isn’t in love with Bob Griffin yet--that is, I am pretty sure she
isn’t from the way she talks--but she certainly will be if you keep on
bullyin’ her the way you did last night. That is just as sure as the
sun’s risin’.”
He took a hand from his pocket to rub his beard the wrong way.
“Well,” he grumbled, impatiently, “that may be so--or may not. What am
I going to do to stop it?”
“Make your peace with her first. Go straight home to her and apologize.
Tell her you are sorry you made such a ninny of yourself last night
and beg her pardon. Then, if you are careful how you do it, you might
perhaps explain a little about why you didn’t like her goin’ to see
Bob. And, if I were you, I should put the most stress on her goin’
there without tellin’ you. _That_ is what--so you must say--hurt your
feelin’s most. It is what has hurt hers, too. Her conscience was
troublin’ her a lot about that; she told me so.”
“Well, it ought to trouble her. It was a dirty trick to play on me.”
“Perhaps. But, remember, she and Bob together were goin’ to give you
that picture for your birthday. It was to be a surprise for you.... It
would have been, too, I guess.”
She laughed at the idea. He put his hand back into the pocket.
“Well, suppose I do get down on my knees to her?” he said, grudgingly.
“What then? That won’t be keeping her away from him. How am I going to
do that?”
“I don’t know exactly. I think I know what _I_ should do. First I
should go with her to Bob’s studio, or whatever he calls it, and see
that picture.”
He leaned back to stare at her. “What are you trying to do?” he
demanded. “Make fun of me?”
“No, of course I’m not. I’m tryin’ to show you how to save the pieces,
now that you’ve smashed the pitcher. Tell her you would like to see the
paintin’ and ask her to take you there to see it. Pretend you think it
is splendid, no matter whether you do or not. When they give it to you,
take it and be thankful.”
He broke out with an indignant growl.
“You’re crazy!” he vowed. “Do you suppose I am going to let that fellow
give me presents? Be reasonable.”
“I am. Esther is givin’ it to you; he has only given it to her.”
“It is the same thing. You know it.”
“Well, suppose it is. Can’t you see that your acceptin’ it will do more
to put you and her back where you were before this upset than anything
else in the world? When she sees you willin’ to forget and forgive she
will be more ashamed of herself than ever for keepin’ a secret from
you. And she won’t keep another one from you--for a while, anyway.
Come, that is reasonable, isn’t it?”
He did not reply for a moment. Then he raised another objection.
“It looks to me as if it would only make things worse,” he said. “If I
go down and pat him on the back--instead of knocking him in the head,
as I’d like to do--he’ll take it for granted I’m satisfied to have him
hanging around after her. He will--why, blast it all! Reliance, he’ll
be calling on her at the house next! Of course he will.”
“Well, if he does--if he does, at least you will have them both under
your nose where you can see for yourself what is goin’ on. And if they
get _too_ friendly you can do what you’ve done before, take her away
somewhere. You took her to California; now you can take her to--well,
to China, if you want to. You can afford it, I guess.”
For the first time he seemed to find satisfaction in her counsel. The
frown left his face and his eyes brightened. He looked up and nodded.
“Humph!” he grunted. “Humph! That’s an idea! Now you _are_ talking.
That _is_ an idea! Humph! All right, Reliance. Much obliged. I’ll think
it over.”
He rose to his feet and turned to the door.
“Say,” he said, as if struck by a new and disquieting thought, “you
don’t ever tell anybody of my coming down here to--well, to talk things
over same as we have to-day? You keep it to yourself, don’t you?”
She straightened.
“Certainly I do,” she retorted, sharply. “Do you think I go around
boastin’ of it?”
“Well, I didn’t know but what--”
“I don’t. I’m not so proud of havin’ you callin’ on me as all that. You
used to come to see me years ago and, if I remember, it was I, and not
you, who stopped it then. I can stop it again if it’s necessary. What
do you mean by askin’ such a question?”
He laughed. “There, there!” he protested. “Don’t fly off the handle.
All I meant was--”
“I know what you meant. You are ashamed of havin’ to ask a woman’s
advice and you don’t want anybody to know that the great Foster
Townsend does have to ask for anything. Of course I don’t tell. But if
you think nobody knows you come to this house--yes, and doesn’t know it
every time you come--it must be because you carry your head so high in
the air you can’t see what is on either side of you. I have been asked
a dozen times what you come here for. The last time you came--when
Esther wasn’t with you, I mean--Abbie Makepeace was waitin’ to ask why
you did it.”
“Humph! She was, eh? What did you tell her?”
“I told her my rent was two weeks behindhand and maybe you’d come to
collect it.”
“Humph! That wasn’t so bad. What did she say to that?”
“Well, if you must know, she said she guessed it was somethin’ of the
sort. She said she never knew you to go anywhere unless there was
somethin’ to be got for yourself by doin’ it. You forgot to speak to
her the last time you and she met, Foster. That was a mistake.”
His newly found good humor was not shaken by this plain speech. He was
still chuckling.
“She was right, in one way, Reliance,” he admitted. “I generally do
come to you when I want something in the way of horse sense. And I’m
free to say I usually get it--with plenty of pepper. I might come to a
worse place.... Well, whoever else you tell, don’t tell Millard.”
Her eyes snapped. “Millard!” she repeated. “I’ll tell Millard a few
things when I get him alone. You needn’t worry about that.”