I
Henderson made his wife’s return an excuse for giving a party at the
Faraway Country Club. Mrs. Henderson had brought home a trophy from
the golf tournament and her prowess must be celebrated. She was a tall
blonde with a hearty, off-hand manner, and given to plain, direct
speech. She treated Bud as though he were a younger brother, to be
humored to a certain point and then reminded a little tartly of the
limitations of her tolerance.
When Bruce arrived at the club he found his hostess and Mrs. Freeman
receiving the guests in the hall and directing them to a dark end
of the veranda where Bud was holding forth with a cocktail-shaker.
Obedient to their hint, he stumbled over the veranda chairs until
he came upon a group of young people gathered about Bud, who was
energetically compounding drinks as he told a story. Bruce knew the
story; it was the oldest of Bud’s yarns, and his interest wavered to
become fixed immediately upon a girl beside him who was giving Bud her
complete attention. Even in the dim light of the veranda there was no
mistaking her: she was the Millicent Harden he had rescued from the
sand bar. At the conclusion of the story she joined in the general
laugh and turned round to find Bruce regarding her intently.
“I beg your pardon,” he said and bowed gravely.
“Oh, you needn’t!” she replied quickly.
He lifted his head to find her inspecting him with an amused smile.
“I might find someone to introduce us--Mr. Henderson, perhaps,” he
said. “My name--if the matter is important--is Bruce Storrs.”
“Possibly we might complete the introduction unassisted--my name is
Millicent Harden!”
“How delightful! Shall we dance?”
After the dance he suggested that they step out for a breath of air.
They found seats and she said immediately:
“Of course I remember you; I’d be ashamed if I didn’t. I’m glad of this
chance to thank you. I know Leila--Miss Mills--will want to thank you,
too. We must have seemed very silly that night on the river.”
“Such a thing might happen to anyone; why not forget it?”
“Let me thank you again,” she said seriously. “You were ever so kind.”
“The incident is closed,” he remarked with finality. “Am I keeping you
from a partner? They’re dancing again. We might sit this out if I’m not
depriving you----”
“You’re not. It’s warm inside and this is a relief. We might even
wander down the lawn and look for elves and dryads and nymphs. Those
big trees and the stars set the stage for such encounters.”
“It’s rather nice to believe in fairies and such things. At times I’m a
believer; then I lose my faith.”
“We all forget our fairies sometimes,” she answered gravely.
He had failed to note at their meeting on the river the loveliness
of her voice. He found himself waiting for the recurrence of certain
tones that had a curious musical resonance. He was struck by a certain
gravity in her that was expressed for fleeting moments in both voice
and eyes. Even with the newest dance music floating out to them and
the light and laughter within, he was aware of an indefinable quality
in the girl that seemed somehow to translate her to remote and shadowy
times. Her profile--clean-cut without sharpness--and her manner of
wearing her abundant hair--carried back loosely to a knot low on her
head--strengthened his impression of her as being a little foreign to
the place and hour. She spoke with quiet enthusiasm of the outdoor
sports that interested her--riding she enjoyed most of all. Henderson
had intimated that her social life was restricted, but she bore herself
more like a young woman of the world than any other girl he remembered.
“Maybelle Henderson will scold me for hiding you away,” she said.
“But I just can’t dance whenever the band plays. It’s got to be an
inspiration!”
“Then I thank you again for one perfect dance! I’m afraid I didn’t
appreciate what you were giving me.”
“Oh, I danced with you to hide my embarrassment!” she laughed.
Half an hour passed and they had touched and dismissed many subjects
when she rose and caught the hand of a girl who was passing.
“Miss Mills, Mr. Storrs. It’s quite fitting that you should meet Mr.
Storrs.”
“Fitting?” asked the girl, breathless from her dance.
“We’ve all met before--on the river--most shockingly! You might just
say thank you to Mr. Storrs.”
“Oh, this is _not_----” Leila drew back and inspected Bruce with a
direct, candid gaze.
“Miss Harden is mistaken; this is the first time we ever met,” declared
Bruce.
“Isn’t he nice!” Leila exclaimed. “From what Millie said I knew you
would be like this.” And then: “Oh, lots of people are bragging about
you and promising to introduce me! Here comes Tommy Barnes; he has this
dance. Oh, Millie! if you get a chance you might say a kind word to
papa. He’s probably terribly bored by this time.”
“Leila’s a dear child! I’m sure you’ll like her,” said Millicent as the
girl fluttered away. “Oh, I adore this piece! Will you dance with me?”
As they finished the dance Mrs. Henderson intercepted them.
“Aren’t you the limit, you two? I’ve had Bud searching the whole place
for you and here you are! Quite as though you hadn’t been hiding for
the last hour.”
“I’m going to keep Mr. Storrs just a moment longer,” said Millicent.
“Leila said her father was perishing somewhere and I want Mr. Storrs to
meet him.”
“Yes; certainly,” said Bruce.
He walked beside her into the big lounge, where many of the older
guests were gathered.
“Poor Mr. Mills!” said Millicent after a quick survey of the room.
“There he is, listening to one of Mr. Tasker’s interminable yarns.”
She led the way toward a group of men, one of whom was evidently
nearing the end of a long story. One of his auditors, a dark man of
medium height and rather stockily built, was listening with an air of
forced attention. His grayish hair was brushed smoothly away from a
broad forehead, his neatly trimmed mustache was a trifle grayer than
his hair. Millicent and Bruce fell within the line of his vision, and
his face brightened instantly as he nodded to the girl and waved his
hand. The moment the story was ended he crossed to them, his eyes
bright with pleasure and a smile on his face.
“I call it a base desertion!” he exclaimed. “Leila brings me here and
coolly parks me. A father gets mighty little consideration these days!”
“Don’t scold! Mr. Mills--let me present Mr. Storrs.”
“I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Storrs,” said Mills with quiet
cordiality. He swept Bruce with a quick, comprehensive scrutiny.
“Mr. Storrs has lately moved here,” Millicent explained.
“I congratulate you, Mr. Storrs, on having fallen into good hands.”
“Oh, Miss Harden is taking splendid care of me!” Bruce replied.
“She’s quite capable of doing that!” Mills returned.
Bruce was studying Franklin Mills guardedly. A man of reserves and
reticences, not a safe subject for quick judgments. His manner was
somewhat listless now that the introduction had been accomplished; and
perhaps aware of this, he addressed several remarks to Bruce, asking
whether the music was all that the jazzy age demanded; confessed with
mock chagrin that his dancing days were over.
“You only think they are! Mr. Mills really dances very well. You’d be
surprised, Mr. Storrs, considering how venerable he is!”
“That’s why I don’t dance!” Mills retorted with a rueful grin.
“‘Considering his age’ is the meanest phrase that can be applied to a
man of fifty.”
Bud Henderson here interrupted them, declaring that dozens of people
were disconsolate because Bruce had concealed himself.
“Of course you must go!” said Millicent.
“I hope to meet you again,” Mills remarked as Bruce bowed to him.
“Thank you, Mr. Mills,” said Bruce.
He was conscious once more of Mills’s intent scrutiny. It seemed to him
as he walked away that Mills’s eyes followed him.
“What’s the matter, old top?” Bud demanded. “You’re not tired?”
“No; I’m all right,” Bruce replied, though his heart was pounding hard;
and feeling a little giddy, he laid his hand on Henderson’s arm.