As they drove to Shepherd’s for dinner he good-naturedly combated
Constance’s assertion that Confucius was as great a teacher as Christ.
Leila said she’d like to adopt a Chinese baby; the Chinese babies in
the movies were always so cute. Shepherd’s philanthropic nature had
been deeply impressed by the idea of reducing human suffering through
foreign missions. He announced that he would send the bishop a check.
“Well, I claim it was a good sermon,” said Leila. “That funny old bird
talked a hundred berries out of Dada.”
When they reached the table, Mills reproved Leila for asserting that
she guessed she was a Buddhist. She confessed under direct examination
that she knew nothing about Buddhism but thought it might be worth
taking up sometime.
“Millie says there’s nothing in the Bible so wonderful as the world
itself,” Leila continued. “Millie has marvelous ideas. Talk about
miracles--she says the grass and the sunrise are miracles.”
“Millie is such a dear,” Constance murmured in a tone that implied a
lack of enthusiasm for grass and sunrises.
“Millicent has a poetic nature,” Mills remarked, finding himself
self-conscious at the mention of Millicent. Millicent’s belief in
a Supreme Power that controls the circling planets and guides the
destinies of man was interesting because Millicent held it and talked
of it charmingly.
“_Did_ you see that outlandish hat Mrs. Charlie Felton was sporting?”
Leila demanded with cheerful irrelevance. “I’ll say it’s some hat! She
ought to hire a blind woman to buy her clothes.”
“I didn’t see anything the matter with her hat,” remarked Shepherd.
“You _wouldn’t_, dear!” said Constance.
“Who’s Charlie Felton?” asked Mills. “It seemed to me I didn’t know a
dozen people in church this morning.”
“Oh, the Feltons have lately moved here from Racine, Fond du Lac or St.
Louis--one of those queer Illinois towns.”
“Those towns may be queer,” said her father gently. “But they are not
in Illinois.”
“Oh, well, give them to Kansas, then,” said Leila, who was never
disturbed by her errors in geography or any other department of
knowledge. “You know,” she continued, glad the conversation had been
successfully diverted from religion, “that Freddy Thomas was in college
with Charlie Felton and Freddy says Mrs. Felton isn’t as bad as her
hats.”
Mills frowned. Shepherd laughed at this more joyously than the remark
deserved and stammeringly tried to cover up the allusion to Thomas. It
was sheer impudence for Leila to introduce into the Sunday table talk
a name that could only irritate her father; but before Shepherd could
make himself articulate Mills looked up from his salad.
“_Freddy?_ I didn’t know you were so intimate with anyone of that name.”
This was not, of course, strictly true. Leila always referred to Thomas
as Freddy; she found a mischievous delight in doing so before her
father. Since she became aware of her father’s increasing displeasure
at Thomas’s attentions and knew that the young man’s visits at the
house were a source of irritation, she had been meeting Thomas at
the homes of one or another of her friends whose discretion could be
relied on, or at the public library or the Art Institute--it was a joke
that Leila should have availed herself of these institutions for any
purpose! Constance in giving her an admonitory prod under the table
inadvertently brushed her father-in-law’s shin.
“I meant Mr. Frederick Thomas, Dada,” Leila replied, her gentle tone in
itself a species of impudence.
“I hope you are about done with that fellow,” said Mills, frowning.
“Sure, Dada, I’m about through with him,” she replied with intentional
equivocation.
“I should think you would be! I don’t like the idea of your name being
associated with his!”
“Well, it isn’t, is it?”
Mills disliked being talked back to. His annoyance was increased by the
fact that he had been unable to learn anything detrimental to Thomas
beyond the fact that the man had been divorced. The decree of divorce,
he had learned in Chicago, was granted to Thomas though his wife had
brought the suit. While not rich, Thomas was well-to-do, and when it
came to the question of age, Arthur Carroll was a trifle older. But
Leila should marry Carroll. Carroll was ideally qualified to enter the
family by reason of his familiarity with its history and traditional
conservatism. He knew and respected the Franklin Mills habit of mind,
and this in itself was an asset. Mills had no intention of being
thwarted in his purpose to possess Carroll as a son-in-law....
Gloom settled over the table. Mills, deeply preoccupied, ate his
dessert in silence. Leila presented a much more serious and pressing
problem than foreign missions. Constance strove vainly to dispel the
cloud. Leila alone seemed untroubled; she repeated a story that Bud
Henderson had told her which was hardly an appropriate addendum for
a missionary sermon. Her father rebuked her sternly. If there was
anything that roused his ire it was a risqué story.
“One might think,” he said severely, “that you were brought up in a
slum from the way you talk. The heathen are not all in China!”
“Well, it is a funny story,” Leila persisted. “I told it to Doctor
Harden and he almost died laffin’. Doc certainly knows a joke. You’re
not angry--not really, terribly angry at your ’ittle baby girl, is ’ou,
Dada?”
“I most certainly am!” he retorted grimly. A moment later he added:
“Well, let’s go to Deer Trail for supper. Connie, you and Shep are free
for the evening, I hope?”
“We’ll be glad to go, of course,” Constance replied amiably.