I
As Bruce was driving past the Mills’s residence one evening several
weeks later, Carroll hailed him. Mills, it appeared, had driven
out with Carroll and the limousine waited at the curb to carry the
secretary on home. Carroll asked Bruce whether he would go with him to
a lecture at the art institute the following night; a famous painter
was to speak and it promised to be an interesting occasion. Mills
lingered while the young men arranged to meet at the club for dinner
before the lecture, and Bruce was about to climb back into his car when
Mills said detainingly:
“Storrs, won’t you have pity on me? Carroll’s just refused to dine with
me. My daughter’s going out and there’s just myself. Do you think you
could stand it?”
“The soil of the day is upon me!” said Bruce. “But----”
He very much wished to refuse, but the invitation was cordially given,
and taken by surprise, he was without a valid excuse for declining.
“You don’t need to dress and you may leave the moment you’re bored,”
said Mills amiably.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to run,” said Carroll. “I’ll send your car right
back, Mr. Mills. Thank you. I envy you two your quiet evening!”
Mills led the way upstairs, opened the door of one of the bedrooms and
turned on the lights.
“The room’s supposed to be in order--it’s my son’s old room. Ring if
you don’t find what you want.”
Bruce closed the door and stared about him.
Shepherd’s old room! It was a commodious chamber, handsomely furnished.
The bath was a luxurious affair. As he drew off his coat Bruce’s mind
turned back to his little room in the old frame house in Laconia; the
snowy window draperies his mother always provided, and the other little
tributes of her love, fashioned by her own hands, that adorned the room
in which he had dreamed the long, long dreams of youth. Through the
dormer windows he had heard the first bird song in the spring, and on
stormy nights in winter had sunk to sleep to the north wind’s hoarse
shout through the elms and maples in the yard.
“My son’s room!” Franklin Mills had said carelessly as he turned away.
The phrase still rang in Bruce’s ears. Mills could not know; he could
not even suspect! No man would be callous enough to make such a remark
if he believed he was uttering it to an unrecognized child of his own
blood.
Bruce laved his face and brushed his hair and went down the hall to the
library where Mills had taken him on the memorable night they met in
the storm. The portrait which had so disturbed Mills still hung in its
place. Bruce turned his back on it and took up the evening newspapers.
A maid appeared to say that Mr. Mills was answering a long-distance
call, but would be free in a moment; and a little later the butler
came in with a tray and began concocting a cocktail. While this was in
preparation a low whistle from the door caused Bruce to glance round.
Leila was peering at him, her head alone being visible.
“I thought you were a burglar!” she whispered.
Bruce pointed to the servant, who was solemnly manipulating the shaker,
and beckoned her to enter.
“Briggs! You lied to me again!” she said severely as she swept into the
room. “You told me there wasn’t a drop in the house!”
“It was the truth, Miss Leila, when I told you,” the man replied
gravely. “A friend of Mr. Mills left this at the door this morning.”
“I don’t believe it! It was more likely a friend of mine. I say, little
one, how do I look?”
“Queenly,” Bruce replied. “If you were more beautiful my eyes couldn’t
bear it.”
“Cut it! Am I really all right?”
“I’d be ashamed if I didn’t know it!”
“Good boy! You have a taste!”
She was charming indeed in her evening gown, which he praised in
ignorant terms that she might correct him. She remained standing,
drawing on her gloves, and explaining that she was dining at the
Tarletons and wasn’t highly edified at the prospect. Her going was
a concession to her father. The Tarletons had a young guest whose
grandfather had once been a business associate of her Grandfather
Mills; hence she must sacrifice herself.
“Dad’s keen about the old family stuff. Just look at those grand old
relics up there.” She indicated the line of family portraits with a
disdainful gesture. “I come in and make faces at them when I feel
naughty. I can’t tell my grandfathers apart, and don’t want to!”
“How lacking in piety!” said Bruce, who could have pointed out her
Grandfather Mills! He bestowed a hasty glance at the portrait,
satisfied that Leila at least would never detect her ancestor’s
resemblance to himself. The servant, having sufficiently agitated the
cocktails, withdrew. Leila, waiting till the door to the back stairs
closed, began advancing with long steps and a rowdyish swagger toward
the tray.
“Alone with a cocktail! And I’m going to a dry party! Hist!” She bent
her head toward the door, her hand to her ear. “What’s the Colonel
doing?” she asked.
“At the telephone; he’ll be here any minute.”
“Quick! Fill that glass--that’s the good sport!”
“Service for two only! You wouldn’t rob _me_!”
“Please--I don’t want my gloves to reek of gin--please!”
“You can’t touch that tray--you can’t touch that shaker! You’re
hypnotized!” he declared solemnly.
“Oh, tush!” With a quick movement she tried to grasp the shaker; but he
caught her hand, held it a moment, then let it fall to her side while
he smiled into her bright, eager eyes.
“In the name of all your ancestors I forbid you!” he said.
“You wouldn’t trust me with one?” she demanded, half defiant, half
acquiescing.
“Not tonight, when you’re meeting old family friends and all that!”
“Pshaw!” She stamped her foot. “I can stop at half a dozen houses and
get a drink----”
“But you won’t; really you won’t!”
“What’s it to you--why should you care?” she demanded, looking him
straight in the eyes.
“Aren’t we friends?” he asked. “A friend wouldn’t give it to you. See!
You don’t really want it at all--it was just an hallucination!”
“Oh, no!” she said, puckering her face and scowling her abhorrence of
the idea while her eyes danced merrily. “I just _dreamed_ I wanted it.
Well, score one for you, old top! You’re even nicer than I thought you
were!”
“Leila, haven’t you _gone_ yet?” exclaimed Mills, appearing suddenly in
the room.
“No, Dada! I was just kidding Bruce a little. Hope you have a nice
dinner! Don’t be too solemn, and don’t scold your guest the way you do
me. Yes, I’ve got my key and every little thing. Good-night. Come and
see me sometime, Bruce.” She lifted her face for her father to kiss,
paused in the doorway to shake her fist at Bruce and tripped down the
hall singing.
“Do pardon me for keeping you waiting,” said Mills. “I had a New York
call and the connection was bad. Let’s see what we have here----”
“Allow me, sir----”
As Bruce gave the drinks a supplemental shake Mills inspected the two
glasses, ostensibly to satisfy himself that the housekeeping staff had
properly cared for them, but really, Bruce surmised, to see whether
Leila had been tippling.